


The Other Assholes

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Dead in Ohio [3]
Category: Glee, Zombieland (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Apocalypse, M/M, Mormons, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:16:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 87,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>However much Azimio Adams likes to credit <i>Left 4 Dead</i> with instilling him with zombie survival skills, Dave and Az were <i>not</i> prepared for the apocalypse. The grubby little hitchhiker they pick up outside Van Wert insists he’s seventeen and packs his own can opener. The unlikely trio make their way across the Midwest in hopes of a safe haven with a clear line of sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning: Zombies and zombie-appropriate violence and gore; brief mention of child abuse; bad jokes, foul language, and bros being bros (but not bros _helping_ bros); questionable apocalypse survival tactics; drunken groping (but we swear, he insists he's 17) .**
> 
>  
> 
> This is a companion story to [Dead in Ohio](http://archiveofourown.org/works/424202/chapters/709987). 
> 
> Takes place in the Zombieland world but does not contain character crossover. 
> 
> Beta'd by [Knittycat99](http://archiveofourown.org/users/knittycat99/pseuds/knittycat99) & **Separatrix**
> 
> We have no set update schedule for this work; we promise it will be finished eventually!

**Day 1**

The last time the kid whose name doesn't matter hears his name is _not_ the first day of the apocalypse. It happens three days before, at school, and it passes unremarked upon. On the morning of the apocalypse, his mother leaves for work before he wakes up, and his father is still passed out in the recliner in front of the television. The kid gets up early and turns on the television, volume on low. He sits on the floor next to his father’s recliner with a bowl of cereal and watches shaky video footage of what looks like a woman in a business suit _eating_ a man in running shorts. He flips through the other channels, but it’s the same on every channel, and that’s when he realizes what’s happening.

“Dad?” the kid says, nudging his father’s leg. “Dad. Wake up. There’s zombies in Kentucky.”

His dad grunts and scratches himself, lifting his head and opening one eye. “The fuck are you going on about?”

“There’s zombies in Kentucky,” the kid repeats. “It’s on the news.”

“Told you to quit watching that SyFy shit,” his dad grumbles. “Gonna rot your brain.” He doesn’t look at the television as he hauls himself to his feet and stumbles back to the bathroom. He doesn’t shut the door and the kid can hear him urinating for a long, long time before stumbling back through the living room and into the kitchen, where he rifles through the cabinet for a few minutes, complaining and swearing under his breath about there not being any food to speak of. He’s looking through the fridge when the phone rings. It rings three times, and the kid is making a move to answer it when his dad backhands him away from the phone.

“It’s not for you,” his dad says, like that much should have been painfully obvious. “Hello?” he says into the phone. “Yeah. Fred can’t cover it?” The kid’s dad looks at him and jerks a thumb back towards the kid’s bedroom, mouthing ‘get out of here’. The kid gets, but as he’s scurrying back to his room, he hears his dad say, “Yeah. Alright. I’ll be there in thirty.”

The kid stops in the hallway. “Where are you going?”

“I told you to go to your room,” the kid’s dad says. 

“There’s zombies out there,” the kid says, in what he thinks is an admirably matter-of-fact tone, given the circumstances. 

“Go to your room before I knock you in there,” the kid’s dad says. The kid goes to his room. He stays there as his dad gets ready to go wherever he’s going—the kid’s guess is work—and he doesn’t come out until he hears his dad headed to the front door. 

“There’s zombies,” the kid says one more time, and this time his dad does exactly what he says he’d do, and backhands the kid upside his head, knocking him back into his room again. The kid puts the back of his hand to his nose and wipes away a little trickle of blood. When his dad’s truck pulls out of the driveway, tires screeching on the pavement, the kid says, softly, “I hope you die. I hope they eat you.”

He spends the rest of the day watching tv until the signal cuts out, and then he turns off all the lights in the house, makes sure the doors are locked, and waits. He eventually falls asleep waiting. 

**Day 2**

The kid wakes up in the morning and stretches. His house is still empty; his parents’ vehicles aren’t outside. When he peers outside the window, he sees a few zombies ambling slowly down the street. They aren’t anyone he recognizes.

The apocalypse is surprisingly well-timed, the kid muses, as he starts packing things in his school backpack. He's only a week into his sophomore year at McKinley and so far, it hasn't been shaping up to be promising. In a way, zombies are a mercy. If they’re like the zombies in movies, they don’t talk, they don’t have any particular biases, and they just want to eat everybody equally. He’s scared, sure, because zombies are scary, but his terror mixes with a low-level rush of excitement. How bad can the apocalypse be for a kid who started the school year with a black eye, who’s already been thrown into a locker twice, whose face still has blood on it from his dad backhanding him?

By the time the sun is up, the kid’s bag is almost packed with a few changes of socks and underwear, an extra pair of jeans, a couple of t-shirts, his toothbrush, his favorite graphic novel, and his dad's revolver, along with all the extra bullets he can find. He adds his dad’s multi-use tool and pocket knife, which don’t usually go to work with him, and—remembering an old Far Side comic—tosses in the can opener. He fills a water bottle up in the kitchen sink, grabs the rest of the bag of cereal from the pantry, and then takes a black Sharpie to two white t-shirts, scrawling 'NOT A ZOMBIE DON'T SHOOT' across each of them, front and back.

One of those shirts gets pulled on in place of the faded green t-shirt he slept in, and the other he drapes across his backpack for greater visibility. It won't make a difference as far as the zombies are concerned, but it might keep a normal person from shooting him _thinking_ he's a zombie, and since he figures he's smarter and faster than a zombie, but maybe not smarter or faster than a normal person, any extra help counts. Before he leaves the house, he drinks as much water as he can, and he eats the last few slices of bologna, cheese, and bread, not in sandwich form. He leaves the pop, his dad’s booze, and the Hamburger Helper; he's pretty sure that's the wrong kind of help in the apocalypse.

The kid briefly considers leaving a note for his mom, but he's a realist. Anybody not home when the zombies hit town, he'd better mark them off his list of people who aren't zombies yet. Since he was the only one home at his place, he's now pretty much the whole list, all by himself. Sure, there're definitely other normal people out there, but none he can count on to help him. Couldn't before, definitely can't now, but at least now they all have to worry about the exact same things as him and, for once, he might actually be the one who isn't the weak one.

He isn't so sure where he's heading, but since the zombies appear to be traveling north, both north and south seem like poor choices. East leads him to Columbus, which also seems like a bad idea, but west is small towns for a good long way. Maybe he can find a group of people who are more prepared for this kind of disaster. At the very least, he can die in a town that's Not Lima. However podunk the town the kid finally kicks it in, it's already miles better than dying in Lima.

The kid locks the house behind him when he leaves. It's partially habit and partially to protect the rest of his comics from looters as long as possible. They might want to use them as toilet paper or something, and the idea of someone wiping their ass with his stuff is upsetting. Still, he can't bring the comics along. He has to leave them to their fate, so he locks the door and he starts walking. He can see some of the zombies down at the far end of his street, but they don’t seem to notice him, and he doesn’t run. 

When he passes Robb park, though, he has to pause and hide behind the wreckage of cars more than once. Seems like the apocalypse hit Lima full force yesterday, or overnight, at least. The zombies definitely seem neither fast nor smart, but they do appear to be awfully hungry, so he hides and he waits, and then he sprints past the park.

He makes his first kill on the far edge of the park. He has to paw through his bag for the revolver—a mistake he won't make twice, leaving it in the bag—and his first two shots go right over the zombie's head. The next once blows through its stomach, which doesn't make it stop, but the fourth shot goes right into its face. The head doesn't explode like it does on tv, but the zombie drops and it’s enough. He pauses long enough to reload the revolver with hands that aren't even shaking at all.

He’s not afraid anymore. He was made for this.

Leaving the dead zombie where it fell, the kid turns to walk along West Robb towards where it hits Elida Road, going west. He stays alert and hides when he needs to, which is less often than he would have expected, but maybe the zombies aren’t really wandering past the park yet. Maybe the rest of them are closer to downtown or the mall, mostly. It’s hot, even for the end of August, and his shirt’s soaked through with sweat before he passes the minigolf place just before Elida. He’s glad he used a Sharpie on his shirt, not a poster marker, or he’d be sweating black, plus the whole point of the shirts would be lost if the words melted.

A zombie family—zombie-mom and three little zombie-kids—approaches him from the right, shambling off the go-cart track. He checks the revolver, now shoved into his pocket, but four zombies at a time might be more than he handle, even if they are slow-moving. If he had the bullets, he’d at least shoot the zombie-kids and put them out of their misery, but mercy has to take a backseat to practicality in the apocalypse. Zombie-mom should have done a better job keeping her kids safe, anyway, and there’s nothing he can do about that.

His heart starts to pound, really beat harder and faster for the first time during this apocalypse, when he takes the turn onto Elida. His dad’s work is on the left, just two buildings up, and what he fears more than zombies or being alone (which is actually kind of better than being with people) or almost anything else is having to spend this apocalypse with his father. He’s not going back now, not when the whole world is falling apart just to give him a chance to escape, and his dad can’t make him do anything or go anywhere. No amount of hitting or screaming is going to make him do what he doesn’t want to do, not anymore.

Up ahead, in front of his dad’s work, the kid sees a zombie—no, _two_ zombies—shambling around in front of the run-down little house that acts as an office. The kid sets his jaw and pulls the revolver out of his pocket, and he keeps walking up the road. When he’s a little closer, he recognizes the fatter zombie as his dad’s boss. The other zombie, the short one—well, now he knows he won’t have to worry about spending the apocalypse with his dad, at least. The kid shoots the boss-zombie after missing the first two shots, but he doesn’t fire at the dad-zombie right away. He waits until it gets closer, probably too close, and when he fires he aims straight for the face, and he doesn’t blink or flinch.

“I _told_ you there were zombies out there,” the kid says, after the dad-zombie pitches over backwards, its face blown away. 

Once that’s done, the kid keeps walking along the road, though as he nears the mall, he can hear banging and the sound of many, many bodies moving around. Sure enough, when he looks down the mall parking lot, he sees a huge mob of zombies scratching and banging at the mall doors, trying to get in, so he cuts back across the street and hides behind businesses, running between buildings, until the mall is far behind him.

The kid walks and walks along Elida, sometimes sprinting for a while to put distance between himself and zombies, sometimes hiding in or under or behind something while zombies pass by. He puts a bullet into one that surprises him while he’s hiding behind some trash cans outside the Humane Society of Allen County; he’d have run if he could, because he only has the one box of bullets and he’s already had to reload the gun twice today, but it traps him against the cans and he doesn’t have any choice. 

He moves a little faster as he approaches the edge of town, and he keeps moving until it gets dark, hiding behind wreckage, hiding in the muddy ditch along the fields, sometimes cutting through fields and hiding behind hay bales or farm equipment, keeping the road in sight. It’s less walking and more a series of darts between various hiding places, so he doesn’t get too far before dark. He sleeps in a field, underneath a tractor, in a curled up ball against one of the tractor’s oversized tires. The dirt underneath is hard, but his sleep is dreamless.

**Day 3**

The first thing the kid does when he wakes up is practice shooting the revolver. He doesn’t have an endless supply of bullets, but having more bullets won’t do him any good if he can’t shoot the gun. He counts the shots he made the previous day as adrenaline-fueled luck, but the kid knows his luck won’t hold forever. The field around him is empty, so he spends twenty minutes or so taking careful aim and firing at a sock he hangs on a hay bale. When his box of bullets starts to feel too light for comfort, he stops shooting and starts walking again. 

Going straight through any town, even one as small as Delphos, seems like a not-good idea, so the kid veers up to US Route 30, keeping the highway on his right. He eats the rest of his cereal while he walks and finishes off his water; he’ll need more very soon. He’s walked for maybe an hour when he encounters the wreckage of a blue sedan that looks like it went right off the bridge above. The driver’s head is crushed against the steering wheel and the passenger slumps against the door, broken glass in her hair, and both of the bodies smell bad. The front seat is a mess of blood and glass, but the kid takes the two bottles of water from the cup holders and then rifles through the bags in the backseat.

He comes up with some granola bars and a melted pack of M&Ms from the dead woman’s purse, a packet of mixed nuts and a bunch of vanilla Power Bars from a workout bag in the back seat, and several more bottles of water and a six pack of warm pop floating in a small cooler full of what’s probably melted ice. The kid leans against the outside of the car and eats two Power Bars and a handful of nuts, chasing them with a pop and a bottle of water, then puts the rest of the food and water into his bag. 

The day starts out hot and only gets hotter, especially as the kid’s walking along 30 and there’s nothing much to duck under for shade. Once, he hears a car rolling along the road, and while part of him thinks it might be nice to see another non-zombie person, another part of him keeps flashing back to movies like _Mad Max_ and how it’s every man for himself in the apocalypse, so he takes the probably wiser course of action of hiding in the muddy drainage ditch running along the side of the highway. He crouches down low in the mud and waits for a while, until he’s sure the car is gone and another one isn’t coming.

After another ten minutes or so of walking, he sees the lake on the other side of the highway. His shirt is sticking to his body in pretty much every possible place, and he’s filthy, and he smells bad, and a swim sounds like a great idea, so he looks both ways—more out of habit than out of any expectation of seeing an actual vehicle—and runs across both directions of the highway.

The kid sets his backpack down by the lake and is just about to pull his shirt over his head when he sees the zombies shambling in his direction from a farm house. He puts his backpack on again, pulls out the revolver just in case, and jogs back to the highway. The zombies follow, but not very fast, and he runs as fast as he can for as long as he can, straight up the middle of the highway. He’s in a heavy sweat and he’s thirsty and tired by the time he feels safe enough to stop, cutting off the road and behind a horse farm, where he climbs through the window of a horse trailer to hide, drink another bottle of water, and eat a Power Bar, all in close to silence.

After he’s been in the truck for about fifteen minutes, he hears the zombies outside, the scrape and shuffle of their feet on the blacktop loud enough to echo. He holds his breath and curls up into a tiny ball, burying himself in the hay at the front of the trailer, revolver in hand. Maybe they can hear his heart beating. Maybe they can smell him. Something, maybe a hand, drags along the side of the trailer, and he waits, finger on the trigger, until the sounds outside the trailer recede.

It can’t be much past noon; he’s walked three miles, maybe four, and he’s exhausted. He keeps his hand on the revolver as he lets his eyelids droop. Finally, he falls asleep in the hay, dozing fitfully for a couple of hours. When he wakes up, he drinks another bottle of water, and then peers out the window of the trailer. The yard is empty, so he climbs out and walks around the property. There’s a large barn, a smaller barn, several pastures with horses, and slightly down the road, a large, nice-looking house.

Approaching the house seems unwise, but the barn is open and well-lit enough that he feels alright about going inside. Most of the stalls are empty, but two of them have horses. They look scared and thirsty; he doesn’t blame them, because it’s hot and he needs to get more water himself very soon.

“Hi,” he says softly. His voice sounds weird, the only human noise left in the world. “I’ll let you out and you don’t trample me. Deal?”

The horses don’t say anything, obviously, since they’re horses and not people, but he unlatches their stalls anyway. They seem to know where the water is, running out into a fenced area connected to the barn, which has a large water container with a faucet. He refills all his empty water bottles from the faucet and drinks three bottles, then refills them again. He wanders back into the barn, slowly creaking open the door labeled ‘office’. It’s empty and the lights are on, and it has a small, high window at the far end, so he locks the door behind him. The office has a desk and chair, some horse-type things around it, and more importantly, a refrigerator and a coffee maker.

Coffee’s a luxury now and will be more of one later, so he’s going to appreciate it while he can. He makes a pot and while it’s brewing, he opens the refrigerator. Some of the stuff in there looks like various kinds of horse medicines or treatments, but there’s also apples, a big pack of string cheese, some pudding cups, and various other snacks that look like they’re probably intended for little kids. He eats some cheese, two apples, some pudding, and then three popsicles from the freezer, drinks the whole pot of coffee, and then uses the actual real flush-toilet bathroom attached to the office. He doesn’t spend much time looking at himself in the mirror, just long enough to note that he looks just as filthy as he feels.

He’s eating a fourth popsicle when the power cuts out. The lights shut off, the fan overhead stops spinning, and he sits in the dim room, eating his red popsicle and wondering what to do next. Most of the food won’t keep, obviously, and he should probably eat as much of the perishable stuff now as he can. He’s still shaken by those zombies outside the trailer, and the office door locks, and it’s frankly a lot better than sleeping on the side of the road or under a tractor like the previous night.

While it’s still light out, he goes and explores the barn. The horses outside seem happy to see him and make little horsey sounds at him. Maybe they’ll act like some kind of early warning sign if zombies come. He’s not going to go out there and make friends with them or anything, because they’re still very large, possibly very dangerous animals, but they look like they might be hungry at least, so he goes into the room labeled ‘feed’ and drags a bag of oats out into the fenced-in area, ripping open the side and quickly retreating.

One bin in the feed room is labeled ‘sweet feed’ and it smells good, so he eats a bite of it. Oats, maybe molasses, nothing overtly horsey, and it probably travels well, if it can be kept in a bin, so he fills up the empty cereal bag with sweet feed and sticks it back into his pack. In the room labeled ‘tack’, he finds some blankets, which he carries back to the office, and a few boxes of shotgun shells. Shells means there might be a shotgun around there somewhere, but he doesn’t find it. He does put the shells in the office, though.

While the horses are distracted with their bag of oats, he opens the far gate that lets out into a grassy pasture, so they can get to something else to eat after he leaves in the morning. The sun is riding low on the horizon, though it won’t set for a while yet, and he goes back into the office, shoving the heavy desk in front of the door and spreading blankets out on the floor along the wall. He eats another two popsicles, already starting to soften in the freezer part of the dead refrigerator, and some pudding cups, and more string cheese. All the apples go into his backpack for the next day, and he refills all his water bottles one more time before wrapping himself up in a horse blanket and falling asleep against the wall of the office.

**Day 4**

He wakes up on the morning of the fourth day of the apocalypse feeling rested and not at all hungry, though he eats the last few packages of lukewarm string cheese. He uses the bathroom and washes his hands, rolls up one of the blankets and ties it to the top of his backpack, and then goes through the drawers of the desk. He finds a small handgun (goes into the waistband of his pants) and bullets (into his pack) and a bag of lollipops (most of them go into the pack, some into his pocket). He stands on the chair to check out the window, but everything outside is clear and zombie free, so he drags the desk away from the door, says goodbye to the horses, and heads across a plowed field towards 30.

The rest of the fourth day is pretty boring. He doesn’t see any zombies up close, though he sees some from a distance, a few of them moving much faster than any he’d seen previously. Two cars pass, headed in the wrong direction, as he sees it. No reason to drive towards Lima, not anymore. The going isn’t as fast as he’d hoped, because any time he sees or hears anything suspicious, he hides and loses a half-hour or so, but he’s well past Delphos and close to Van Wert when he stops for the day. With no particular place to be, there’s no reason to push himself too hard, and he eats sweet feed and apples and a Power Bar, then sleeps in a culvert, wrapped in his horse blanket.

**Day 5**

Day five doesn’t start so great and ends even worse. When he wakes up in the culvert, he’s disoriented and hot, and he can hear footsteps above him, lots of them. He has to crawl through the culvert to the other side to look out, and he sees a large group of zombies passing, some of them at an impressive rate of speed. Some are still moving at the slow shamble of those zombies he encountered in Lima, but others are faster, so much faster. All the kid wants to do is run, but instead he stays in that culvert for over an hour, wishing he could eat or drink or pee or any of the things he needs to do, until he’s sure they’re all gone.

Once they’re gone, he does all the things he needed to do—the eating, the drinking, the peeing—and starts walking again. Running, actually; even though there’s no reason to, he finds himself jogging down the side of the highway, trying to put as much distance between himself and the zombies as he can. He’s going too fast, he’s too tired, and he’s not paying enough attention, though, and when the shoulder of the road suddenly banks sharply, he’s not prepared, and he tumbles down it, head over feet.

When the kid hits the bottom, everything sort of hurts, but his ankle hurts the worst. He tries to stand, but the pain is too intense and his ankle is too wobbly, and he drags himself to a ditch where he can at least be out of view of the road and the field, muttering to himself the whole way. Once he’s in the ditch, he look at his ankle. It’s swelling rapidly, already turning an ugly purplish color. Hopefully it’s not broken, because if it is, he may as well accept the fact that he’s zombie chow now and go ahead and put a bullet in his head.

He’ll give it until the morning to see, and he’ll make his decision then. He should feel panicky, but he doesn’t. It makes sense to give it enough time for him to make a rational decision; it makes just as much sense to shoot himself as an alternative to the zombies eating him, and the thought doesn’t upset him. He rips up one of his t-shirts, using it to wrap his ankle tightly, and he sits in the ditch with the sun beating down on him, drinking water and eating sweet feed, and wondering if this is how he’ll spend his last day. He hopes not, because it’s a pretty lame last day, but in the end, it is how it is.

**Day 6**

When the kid wakes up on day six of the apocalypse, he thinks his ankle might feel a little better. It’s still swollen pretty badly, though, and as he re-wraps it in the strips of t-shirt and then shoves his puffy foot into his shoe, he sincerely hopes he won’t have to do any running today. His water is almost gone and he needs to find more food, too, so he once he’s up on his feet, he begins heading slowly down 30. Maybe today’s the day to stop hiding from passing cars, because at this point, he not only could use the time off his feet, but is actually starting to miss the company of other people.

The kid limps along 30 until he sees the signs for the Super Walmart and, even better, the Chinese buffet. Maybe attempting the Walmart wouldn’t be a great idea, but nobody would have been in a Chinese restaurant early on a Sunday morning, so probably it’s empty and he can at least get something to eat and find some water. He has to break the window glass with a rock to let himself in, but the restaurant is completely empty. He eats two cans of mandarin oranges, three carrots, drinks a can of coconut milk, and then devours most of their fortune cookies. The rest of the cookies go into his pack, along with the other carrots, and some cans of oranges and water chestnuts, which don’t seem to really have any nutritional value, but at least have water. 

His backpack has pretty much reached critical mass and he can’t eat any more food, so the kid decides he’s stopped for long enough. On his way out of the store, he grabs a handful of the matchbooks which have the buffet’s name embossed on them in gold, and sticks them into the front pocket of the backpack. Once that’s done, he limps back up to the road and continues walking until he crosses the little bridge across the stream. The kid stops there to rearrange his pack, and that’s when he sees the truck.


	2. Chapter 2

Azimio Adams is good at three things:

He’s good at football. He may not be all that fast, but he’s big and he’s mean, or mean-looking anyway. He’s good at _Left 4 Dead_. It’s not something he talks about, on account of not wanting to look like some kind of nerd or something, but he placed second in the Western Ohio _Left 4 Dead_ Championship last year, and fuck anybody who has a problem with that. He’s also, it turns out, really fucking great at killing zombies.

Az has a bone to pick with those undead motherfuckers, and maybe his other two skills just set him up to be some kind of real-life zombie-killing pro, because from the first shot he put through a zombied-up Mrs. Harrison’s forehead, he’s been in it to win it. Maybe a lesser man would have flinched, but Az doesn’t believe in flinching. Flinching is for pussies. 

Actually, come to think of it, he’s got a _stack_ of bones to pick, ‘cause the fuckers interrupted his _Left 4 Dead_ game and it’s not like there’s gonna be tons of time for _Left 4 Dead_ in the fucking apocalypse. The first bone’s that the zombies are going around eating people, and the second one is that Az was suppose to start college in a few weeks, but now that’s probably not happening. He’s just gonna call it a whole lot of fucking bones to pick with them and be done with it, because all this counting shit is just depressing.

“Stop daydreaming about Missy Gunderson’s ass and shoot some damn zombies!” Dave grumbles loudly, taking a left onto Collett. 

“Fuck you, bitch,” Az answers amiably, firing out the truck’s window and pegging a zombie in a nasty looking bathrobe right in the mouth. “You know I’m a tit man.”

“Then stop dreaming about her,” Dave wrinkles his nose before continuing, “boobs.”

“Well, they’re probably zombie tits now,” Az agrees. “It’s a sad, sad world, Dave. You wanna shove that box of bullets over here so I can reload while I cry?”

Dave pushes the bullets towards Az with a shake of his head. “Don’t get the ammo wet.”

“I’ll keep the crying on the inside.” Az reloads the rifle and then fires out the window again, missing one of the zombies in the front yard of a house they’re passing, but catching the other. “I think those motherfuckers were eating a poodle. Who eats a goddamn poodle? Who does that, Dave?”

“That’s disgusting.” Dave makes a face. “Can you imagine all that fucking hair in your teeth? It’d be worse than corn on the cob, Az.”

“Just one more reason not to zombie up, man,” Az says, nodding his head slowly. “Poodles.”

They drive south and then turn left on Kibby, swinging between Industry and Hoover. They’re almost past Industry when Az hears Dave inhale sharply and then swear.

“Holy shit!” 

“What?” Az turns his head to look out the driver side window. “Holy _shit_!” he agrees, because a huge group of kid-zombies in red t-shirts and baseball uniforms, led by one big zombie in a matching t-shirt, come stumbling down Heindel. There’s gotta be twelve, fifteen of them, and Az is still trying to decide if he’s cool as with shooting a kid-zombie as he is with shooting the regular kind when Dave floors it, leaving Hell’s Little League team behind them.

“Are we the only people still breathing in this town?” Dave asks, almost under his breath. “We can’t be the only ones smart enough not to get zombied up.”

“I haven’t seen shit but zombies,” Az says. “Maybe those fuckers should have played a little more _Left 4 Dead_. We might be it, man. You and me, only non-zombie sons of bitches in Lima.”

Dave grunts. “You know who I’d like to see you put a bullet in their zombie head?”

“I know I got a list,” Az confesses. “Who’s top on yours?”

“Fucking Ms. Wyatt and her grammar worksheets.” Dave laughs shortly. “Then Figgins.”

“Mr. Lester and his fucking trigonometry,” Az says. “Bonus points if he’s still holding that pointer thing he uses with the overhead projector. But ditto on Figgins.”

“Too bad it wasn’t a Monday morning and I was skipping.” Dave sighs. “Would’ve made it easier to find all three of them.”

“Had we but world enough and time, fucker,” Az answers, shrugging. 

Dave screws up his face and gives Az a weird look. “You are one strange asshole, Az.”

“Fuck you. I’m a renaissance man.”

“Yeah, you can paint us the zombie Mona Lisa.” Dave rolls his eyes as he keeps driving. 

Dave turns the truck left up Pine, and two blocks up, when they pass the bowling alley, Az grins and shouts, “Hell yeah! Bonus round, bitches!”

“Want me to slow down?” Dave snorts. 

“At least until I have to reload,” Az says, firing out the window and yelling “suck it!” every time he pegs a zombie. Stupid fuckers, going to the bowling alley in the middle of the damn apocalypse. Who the fuck wants to die with those shoes on?

“Want me to go up by McKinley and see if Figgins was working overtime?” Dave says with a grin after they cross the river and leave the bowling alley behind. 

“Circle the parking lot a few times and we’ll look for his car,” Az agrees. 

Dave chuckles and drives towards McKinley, then whoops as they drive into the lot. “Look over there!”

Sure enough, that’s Figgins’ car in the parking lot, and as Dave drives through the parking lots, there’s Figgins, zombied up and wandering around like he’s looking for zombie students to asking them about their fucking zombie hall passes. Dave steers the truck close to Figgins, grinning widely. 

Az leans out the window as they pass by. “Hey, Figgins!” Zombie Figgins doesn’t really do much more than sort of slowly turn in their direction, but Az puts a bullet through his face anyway. “Go Titans! Whoo!”

“Head back?” Dave asks. “I’m getting hungry. Guess we could stop by Joey’s and get a hot dog.” 

“Zombie dogs,” Az says. “Bacon and hot sauce, I’m thinking. Maybe all the kinds of cheese.”

“Apocalyp-cuisine?” Dave shrugs, heading towards Joey’s. “Think they’ll send in the Marines or something?”

“I figure we’re lucky if they don’t just nuke the whole damn thing,” Az says. “They’ll probably use those fucking space lasers on us or something. All we can do is have the pleasure of taking out as many of those motherfuckers ourselves while we still can.”

Dave groans as the lights flicker and then go off, the hum of the microwave stopping a few seconds before the sound of popping dies down completely. “Couldn’t it have stayed on a few more seconds?” he asks. “Let all the corn pop?”

“It’s a conspiracy, is what it is,” Az grumbles. “Last fucking bag of popcorn and we can’t even get it all the way popped.”

Dave opens the microwave and looks through the bag with a frown. “About two-thirds of it did, I guess.” He dumps it into a bowl and puts it in the middle of the table. “Enjoy.”

Az grabs a handful of popcorn and picks out the unpopped kernels, tossing them back into the bowl. “The fuck are we supposed to do now?”

“Hell if I know.” Dave sits down heavily in one of the chairs and grabs his own handful. “Too bad we’re not friends with one of those survivalist people, I guess. Or know where one is, in case they got zombied and we could steal their shit.”

“Or one of those Mormons like my uncle,” Az adds. “They fucking stockpile all that shit. Food, water, toilet paper, all of it.”

“Yeah?” Dave raises an eyebrow. “Where’s Uncle Mormon live?”

“Nebraska. They were in Utah for a while, but Uncle Travis said he couldn’t find a decent cup of coffee in the whole damn state,” Az explains. “He’s Mormon, but he’s not _that_ Mormon, I guess.”

“Nebraska, huh?” Dave nods slowly, chewing on some popcorn. “Shit.” He spits out an unpopped kernel. “It’s nice and flat in Nebraska. Bet you can see things coming from a long way off.”

“Yeah, a lot of farms and shit out there. Like Ohio, but less trees.”

“Well.” Dave picks up a single kernel this time. “No particular reason to stay here, is there?”

“Well fuck, don’t guess there is,” Az says. “We can’t just hit the road for my uncle’s place, though. We need supplies and shit.”

Dave rolls his eyes. “I know that. We can go down to the Shell today and get a few things. Maybe go out by Big Lots or Walmart tomorrow.”

“You got some paper or something? We should make a list of provisions.” Az nods to himself. They’re going to need food, water, ammo, maybe some big-ass knives. Flamethrower would be pretty fucking sweet, but Az isn’t sure where to find one of those in Lima. Maybe the hardware store would have them. “Flamethrower,” he declares. “We need to find one of them. Crispy critter their zombied-up asses.”

“Sweet,” Dave declares with a grin, getting up and grabbing a notebook. He flips it open and writes ‘flamethrower’ at the top of the list. “Might be handy against other people that don’t want to part with their provisions.”

Most of the other shit on the list isn’t as exciting as the flamethrower, though both of them agree that if they can find and lift a keg, they’ll bring it with them. No reason why the zombie invasion can’t be that little bit more enjoyable, right? 

“Is Nebraska warmer than here?” Dave asks. “What do they burn to keep warm in the winter, if there’s no trees?”

“Propane?” Az says, then shrugs. “Shit, Dave, I don’t know that kind of stuff. Maybe this winter, we’ll be burning zombies to keep warm.”

Dave grins widely. “Now you’re talking, Az! Zombie bonfire.”

“You know, Az, I’d feel better about this if we both had guns,” Dave says. “Instead of one ax and one gun.”

Az snorts and rolls his eyes. “Don’t be a pussy. You got to use the gun yesterday. The ax’s just fine if you swing for the face.” He gives the Big Lots doors a hard look, squinting a little in the early afternoon sun. “Nothing moving in there, anyway.”

“Not about who has the gun, asswipe,” Dave grunts, pulling the truck into the handicapped spot. 

“Well, I guess we could just sit out here and talk about your _feelings_ for a while,” Az says. “Or you could man the fuck up and we can go steal some shit.”

“Steal’s such a harsh word. There’s no one to pay, so it’s not like we have a lawful option.”

“Fine. We can go pillage some shit, then,” Az says. He opens up his door and steps down out of the truck, scanning the parking lot. “We’re clear.”

Dave grunts and nods, grabbing the ax from the back of the truck as he swings his door closed. “Well, grab a shopping cart.”

“Grab your own shopping cart, bitch. I’m not your manservant.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not your bitch,” Dave retorts, shoving a bright orange cart in Az’s direction before starting to pilot his own. 

“Hell no, you’re not,” Az agrees, pushing the cart forward. “You’re too tall to slow dance with.”

Dave rolls his eyes. “Asshole.” He stops just outside the doors, which are frozen open. “Flashlight time.”

“Ding dong, motherfuckers. Az and Dave are in the building,” Az announces loudly as he pushes his cart across the threshold. 

“Pretty sure zombies don’t really understand English anymore,” Dave says with a laugh.

“Well, if they can hear me at least, they’ll probably come running,” Az says, shrugging. “Deal with ‘em by the door instead of back in the dark.”

“Here, zombie zombie zombie. Here, zombie zombie zombie,” Dave calls, like zombies are some kind of fucking kitty cat.

“You are losing your motherfucking mind,” Az mutters. He shines his light down the nearest aisle. Some of the shelves are empty, others are jumbles of knocked over cans and boxes, papers and other shit all over the floor. “Looks like we aren’t the first ones here.”

“Late to the Big Lots party.” Dave shakes his head. “Damn shame. Well, let’s see what food’s left.” He turns down the aisle that normally had water on it and stops. “Shit.”

The space where the water used to be is just that, a big fucking _space_ where the water used to be. “Sons of bitches stole our water,” Az says. “Fuck.”

“Every single damn bottle,” Dave says, his head still shaking. “And they’re just gonna piss it out.”

Az moves the flashlight up until it hits a row of large bottles. “They left the Gatorade, at least. Snag that shit and let’s keep moving.”

Dave nods and grabs all the blue Gatorade, plus the lemon-lime, and then turns the corner into the next aisle. “Son of a bitch!”

“Aw, fuck me, what now?” Az flips his flashlight beam up to where Dave’s is pointing. “Motherfucker. Who took all the good stuff?”

“Hell if I know. Apparently there’s at least one of those survivalist buffs around here.” Dave sighs. “Well, there’s instant potatoes, still. Guess we should go to KMart, though.”

“I hope those fuckers drink straight out the tap and catch a brain worm,” Az says. “Slow death shitting themselves. Grab the fucking potatoes and let’s get out of here.”

“Probably they’re smart enough not to,” Dave replies, chucking the instant potatoes and some ramen noodles into the cart. “Maybe they left the duct tape?”

“We should look for X-Acto knives and rope, too,” Az says, running through a list of useful shit in his head. “Band-aids or some shit like that.”

“Yeah, for when you cut yourself on the X-Acto knife,” Dave laughs. 

“Bitch, I’ll cut you with the—wait. You hear that?” From the direction of the front door, Az hears a scraping, shuffling sound, like several fucked up pairs of feet hustling in their direction. “Hey, Dave? You might wanna get that ax up.”

Az tosses his flashlight into the front of his cart and holds up the rifle, aiming at the end of the aisle. In seconds, three zombies come around the end of the aisle, and motherfuckers are _not_ fucking shambling. They’re doing some kind of fucking undead jog or something, and Az starts firing at them, maybe a little more randomly than he’d admit later if Dave asked him. Two of them fall down, but one ends up right on the end of Dave’s cart, and Dave swings the ax down at an angle, dividing the zombie’s head at a very precise-looking forty-five degrees. 

Brains and nasty looking blood splatter all over the place, some of it on the packs of ramen, but all three zombies are down. Az shakes his head at Dave and sighs.

“Can we get the fuck out of here now?” Az asks. “Before their friends come looking for the last of the ramen?”

Dave snorts and gestures with the ax. “Lead the way.”

“And wipe off your fucking ax. It’s dripping brains on your shoes.”

“Hand me your shirt, then.”

Az snorts and makes a disgusted noise. He grabs an American flag beach towel from a display of red, white, and blue shit and tosses it at Dave. “You can’t have my shirt. How many black t-shirts do you think I got, anyway?”

“I thought all your t-shirts were black,” Dave says almost cheerfully as they walk back out of the Big Lots. “Either that or navy, since sometimes you wear navy and black together.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Az grumbles. “And quit looking at my socks, unless you’re gay for my feet now.”

“Sorry, your feet? Not my type,” Dave shoots back, still sounding good-natured as he starts putting the contents of his cart into the back of the truck. 

“I’ve got fucking _gorgeous_ feet, bitch, and don’t you forget it,” Az says, as he throws packs of ramen and boxes of potatoes into the truck bed. 

“Right. I’ll add that to my list of _very important things to know_.”

“Fuck your list. Let’s go to the KMart.”

“Pull over!” Az calls out, pointing out his window. “There, that house.”

“Why?” Dave asks, even as he’s doing just that. 

“Upgrades,” Az says. When the truck stops, Az hops out and grabs the bright pink and yellow beach chair, discarded on its side in someone’s front yard. He climbs into the back of the track and moves boxes around, cramming the chair in between them, then sitting down in the chair. He raps on the back window with his knuckles until Dave lowers it. “Prime zombie-shooting seat, check it out!”

Dave laughs. “Nice chair, Az!” He starts to pull away and drive down the street, leaving the window down. The first time the truck takes a turn, though, the chair goes skidding sideways and dumps Az face first onto a Rubbermaid bin that he’s sure is full of ramen and other food, hopefully all zombie brain-free now. 

“Shit, stop the truck,” Az shouts through the window. “Where’d we put the fucking rope and the bungee cords?”

Dave can’t seem to be bothered to answer him, he’s laughing so damn hard, but he stops and climbs out of the truck, digging around until he tosses the rope at Az. “Rope for the chair and bungee cords for you, or vice versa?” he finally manages to ask. 

“Rope on the chair,” Az says. “Bungee on me. It’s a sweet set up if I don’t fall on my fucking face, though.”

“If you fall on your face, I’ll take pictures,” Dave promises.

“The fuck you gonna take pictures for, dumbass. You think the zombies are running some kind of zombie Facebook?” Az laughs to himself. “Half-a-Facebook.”

Dave shrugs. “I just want to remember the moment.”

“How about I bust out a couple of your teeth, give you something to remember it by?” Az says jovially, running rope over and under the chair and tying it securely to the truck bed at several points. “Now pass me the fucking bungee cord.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dave throws the bungee cords at him and climbs back into the driver’s seat. “Let me know when you’re ready to ride.”

Az hooks one bungee around the chair and over his lap, then takes the second one and hooks it to the top of the chair and across his chest like a seatbelt strap. Seems like that’s a good plan; that set-up obviously works, or cars wouldn’t do them that way. Once he’s secured, he hollers back through the window. “Let’s roll, motherfucker! I want to kill me some undead!”

Az finds the whole run-in to be on the wrong side of disconcerting and he’s none too happy about how things went down back there. Personally, it just reconfirms for him that they need to get the fuck out of Lima, but it also gives him a feeling like his balls are creeping up on him. Fucking emasculated, that’s what they are.

“Hey, Dave!” Az shouts through the window. “I think you left your balls back there with Hummel and Puckerman!”

Dave snorts. “Like how you backed down when Hummel drew on you?”

“Fuck you,” Az responds. “Let’s see how you do with a gun in your face.” 

“You should’ve known better than to ask ‘em for anything,” Dave yells back with a shrug. “You didn’t even realize it was Hummel, either.”

“How’s I supposed to recognize him, dressed like that?” Az rolls his eyes, for all the good it does, since Dave can’t see him. “So I guess him and Puckerman are a _thing_ now. Fucking disconcerting.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Az. Traveling with someone doesn’t mean you’re fucking them.” Dave shakes his head. “That’d mean I was fucking you, and no.”

“First of all, fuck you. Second of all, you _wish_ , but I’m way outta your league. Thirdly, no, traveling doesn’t equal fucking, but I’m pretty sure that making out they were doing when we pulled away does,” Az calls up. “Goddamn zombie apocalypse is making everybody gay.”

Apparently that’s pretty shocking news to Dave, because he slams on the brakes and looks back through the window. “Making out? What the hell?”

“Yeah, making out. You know, tongues and shit.” Az shakes his head. “Fucking disconcerting, like I said.”

“Puckerman. Huh.” Dave shakes his head. “Guess my gaydar whatchamacallit sucks.”

“You’re just butthurt you don’t have the market on queer cornered anymore.” 

“Yeah, that’s it.” Dave snorts. “You’ll be butthurt.”

“The fuck’s that even mean, Dave? Just drive the fucking truck and shut the goddamn window,” Az answers. “Let’s get the hell out of this town before I get struck with the gay zombie virus, too.”

“You can be gay, or you can be a zombie,” Dave suggests, pulling back into the middle of the road. “You might prefer gay.”

“You can be gay or a zombie. I’m staying exactly how I am. Now roll up the window so I don’t have to hear you yapping at me.”

“Too bad.” Dave puts a CD into his CD player and cranks the volume. “Enjoy ‘Stairway’.” 

“Oh, _fuck you_ ,” Az grumbles to himself, ‘cause there’s no way Dave can hear him over that shit he’s listening to, anyway. “Fuck you, fuck this town, fuck those zombies, and fuck Hummel and Puckerman.”

On the drive out of town, Az shoots a few more zombies, but his heart’s not really in it, and a half-mile outside of Lima, he shouts up to Dave to stop the truck. Az unhooks himself from his beach chair throne and hops out of the truck bed, climbing up into the passenger seat of the truck instead. 

“So where are we going, anyway?” Az asks, once they’re back on the road. “Other than Nebraska. You have some kind of driving plan?”

“Stop in Elida or Van Wert, maybe. Find a map. Another gun.” Dave shrugs. “Gas, too.”

“Sure. At least that won’t take too long,” Az says. 

That turns out to be one of those statements where Az should’ve knocked on some wood or some shit afterwards, because the drive across Elida Road _doesn’t_ take too long... for the first thirty minutes or so, until they hit Delphos. Sure, it took them three times as long as it should have, but considering they had to push cars out of the way and weave around a bunch of shit, thirty minutes isn’t that bad for a ten mile or so drive. That’s a fast clip, in zombie time. 

“You remember if there’s a gun shop in Delphos?” Dave asks. “Pawn shop, something.”

“Yeah, ‘cause of how I do so much pawning in Delphos,” Az says. “Let’s just drive the fuck through it and see. We made it just fine through Lima, no reason why Delphos should be a problem.”

“You don’t have any balls left to lose,” Dave deadpans, but he turns to drive through the main part of Delphos. 

The pass by churches and houses going down Lincoln into the center of Delphos, dodging some wrecks in the road, then the road opens up somewhat into business. There’s a Pizza Hut on the left, and just after it, something Az can’t quite make sense of.

“Uh. That a bunch of people up there?” Az asks, squinting at the moving mass of bodies in a clearing past the Pizza Hut.

“Really _bloody_ people,” Dave grunts. “I don’t think they’re people, Az.”

“What? There’s like thirty? Forty of ‘em?” Az frowns. “Why’s Delphos got so many all in one place and—the fuck are you doing!” he yells, as Dave speeds up. 

“Trying to get past them!” Dave retorts, still accelerating. 

“Maybe turn down a fucking _side street_ , dumbass! I can’t shoot out _your_ window!”

“You don’t have thirty bullets!”

“Then drive faster!”

“Make up your mind!”

“Either turn down a side street or drive faster!” Az yells. “I don’t fucking care which!”

“Sixty’s not fast enough for you?” Dave says, then takes a turn still going however fast he’s really going. 

Az looks behind him. A few of the zombies from the side of the road are still running behind them, coming around the corner, but they can’t keep up with the speed of the truck. “Sixty five would make me happier,” Az says. 

Dave speeds up even more and takes a sharp left turn. Az can’t see any more zombies behind them, and eventually the street they’re on curves them back around and dumps them onto 66. 66 turns to the north on the edge of town, and they follow it up to U.S. Route 30. 

“Well,” Dave says calmly once they’re on 30. “That was close.” He shrugs and looks in the rearview mirror. “Good thing zombies can’t drive.”

“Well, aren’t you just the most positive-minded motherfucker to ever drive through a town full of zombies,” Az says. 

Dave grins. “I told you I was gay, Az. Did you forget that ‘gay’ meant happy?”

“Fuck you and fuck your big gay zombie apocalypse.” Az props one of his feet up on the dash and leans his elbow against the window. “I’m already tired of this. This shit’s a lot more fun in a video game. Less driving.”

“Fuck, dude, we’re not even out of Ohio, yet,” Dave laughs. “We should steal some sleeping pills along with a map and a gun. For you.”

“We should steal some beer and some magazines, give me something to do between zombies,” Az suggests. “Something better to look at than your face for the next few states.”

“My sunny face would blind you,” Dave agrees. “I’ll get you some good magazines, Az. No worries.”

“Oh, I’m not worried. I’m _bored_. And hungry.”

“Hmm.” Dave falls silent for a moment, then brightens, turning off the main road. “We can eat junk food and pretend there’s a movie playing.”

Az looks at the big sign. “Van Del drive-in? Yeah, okay. I’m down with that. Maybe we can find a pack of Combos or something.”

“The world’s last Tootsie Rolls,” Dave says, shaking his head and pulling into the middle of the empty field. 

Since all this zombie apocalypse shit started on a Sunday, the place is empty of cars and empty of zombies, and they hit the concession stand for food. Along with the gross shit like rotting hot dogs and stale soft pretzels, they find a huge stash of candy and chips and warm bottled pop and water. Az and Dave each grab a big armful of it and carry it back to the truck, where they open up the tailgate and sit, eating their junk food and watching the sun set over the corn. 

“This has been some kind of weird fucking day,” Az says, while he’s eating his third bag of Combos. 

Dave laughs. “I think they’re all going to be weird, now.”

“Yeah.” Az sighs. “This shit sucks.”

“I still say we shoulda followed those signs to Huggy Bear,” Az grumbles as they’re getting closer and closer to Van Wert.

“You _never_ go to a place called Huggy Bear,” Dave snorts derisively. “Plus this road’s actually going west reliably.”

“Fuck you. Maybe I could use a hug. You ever think of that?”

“We’ll stop the very next zombie we meet,” Dave promises. “Or we could drive back to Lima and you could ask Puckerman.”

“How about you just shut your damn mouth and drive,” Az says. “You have any idea where there’s a gun place in Van Wert, anyway?”

“Gonna check downtown. Seems like as good a place to look as any.”

“That’s gonna be loads of fun, taking on a town full of zombies with five bullets in the box plus whatever’s left in the gun,” Az says. “Just really fucking steller.”

Dave shrugs. “Can’t be helped. Otherwise we don’t have any chance at more bullets.”

“You and your damn common sense, Dave. Fuck the both of you.”

“I already told you, no thanks.” Dave puts in another one of his fucking classic rock CDs and exits onto US 127. He starts to turn left towards Van Wert, then suddenly makes a U-turn. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Az asks. 

“Walmart, Az!” Dave says enthusiastically. “Gas, guns, more food.”

“Or a fuck-ton of zombies with really bad teeth,” Az points out. “You sure you want to try the fucking _Walmart_?”

“Try it, then we can always try the fucking downtown,” Dave shoots back. “Worked out so well in Delphos after all.”

Az doesn’t answer, but he slouches down in his seat as they pull into the Walmart parking lot and holds the rifle up to the window. Dave drives around the entire parking lot three times before approaching the front doors and pulling up on the sidewalk.

“Don’t see anything,” Dave says. “Do you?”

“I see you, being a paranoid motherfucker,” Az answers. “It’s dark inside there, how the fuck am I supposed to see something?”

“With your night vision goggles. _Duh._ ” Dave parks the truck near the open doors and climbs out, picking up the ax from the bed of the truck. 

“I bet we can get some of those back with the hunting shit,” Az says. “That might actually be useful. You think zombies show up on those?”

“Guess we can grab some flashlights, too, and do a test?” Dave shrugs. “Be good for seeing other breathers, anyway.”

“If the next breathing sons of bitches we run into are anything like the last ones, I might spare a bullet or two for ‘em,” Az grumbles. “Fuckers.”

“Probably not gonna find anyone we know now.” Dave walks up to the open doors and sticks his head inside. “Damn quiet in here.”

“Too damn quiet,” Az says. “I’ve seen enough horror movies. I know what quiet means. Buncha undead motherfuckers right around the corner waiting to eat our faces.”

“No movement, though.” Dave walks two or three steps in and stops. “Don’t worry, Az, you’re too pretty to have your face eaten. They’ll avoid your face.”

“Damn straight I am,” Az agrees. “They can bite my ass. Nah, they can’t really. I will fuck their shit up.”

“Let’s load up,” Dave says with a nod.

“Start at the back with the weapons and ammo, work our way up?”

“Good plan,” Dave agrees.

They head to the back of the Walmart, with their mostly-useless-at-this-point weapons up and ready. Luckily, Walmart really does seem to be as empty of shoppers—living and zombied-up variety—and they bust out the glass of the display case for the hunting rifles and load themselves up with guns, ammo, and a couple of those big-ass hunting knives, plus some night vision scopes and shit like that. They grab a bunch of camping gear, too, like a little stove and some canned heat, sleeping bags, even two tents—one regular, one screened in job—and a bunch of other knick-knacky-type outdoors shit. 

“Get some food and get the fuck out of here?” Az says. “This place gives me the screaming wiggins.”

“Batteries for the flashlights, and food, yeah,” Dave agrees. “I keep expecting some creepy blue-vested undead to ask me if I need assistance.”

“Aw, see? Now I’m really fucking creeped out.” Az shudders. “Bitch.” Dave just laughs and walks towards the food. Once they get over into the food section, Az starts knocking cans of Spam and canned hash and stuff like that into his shopping cart. Once they’ve cleared out all of that, they get all the good canned fruit—not the pie filling shit, just the actual fruit in a can—and the vegetables that actually taste like vegetables, not the cans they’re in. 

“Yo, Dave. Get us some of those scalloped potato boxes.”

“Where are you going to get butter for them?” Dave asks. “They don’t taste right without the butter.”

“Don’t be such a fucking snob. Would you rather have scalloped potatoes with no butter, or no fucking potatoes at all?” Az says. 

Dave looks like he actually has to think about that, but he puts the scalloped potatoes in the cart without arguing any more about it. “We should get some Tang.”

“Hell, yeah! Astronauts of the apocalypse!”

They roll to the drink aisle and load up as much water as they can fit into Dave’s cart, along with a few canisters of Tang and some of Kool-Aid, plus a bunch of boxes of those little flavor tubes for pouring into bottled water to make it taste less like plastic. Some of them even have vitamin C and other shit in them, so that works out pretty good.

“Anything else you can think of?” Az asks. 

“Yeah, deodorant, so I don’t have to smell you,” Dave retorts.

“Well, if you don’t like the sweet, sweet smell of success, that’s a flaw in you, not in me,” Az says. “But I don’t want to smell _you_ , so we’ll roll on over.”

“You just wish you could smell like me.” Dave shrugs and they walk towards the hygiene section. “Instead of like dead flowers,” Dave adds, making a face as they pass some dead, rotting flowers. 

“Everything in here smells like ass. Let’s finish our business and get the fuck out of Dodge,” Az says. “Maybe some toothbrushes, too.”

“Sure. We’ll get you a manicure set while we’re here, too.” Dave grins. “Zombies like it when we look pretty, Az.”

“Dave, we always look pretty. But pick you up some clear polish if it’ll help your self-esteem. Maybe a couple of those emery boards.”

“The fuck is an emery board?” Dave asks. “That’s why it’s for you.”

“Nail file, dipshit,” Az says amicable, as he tosses a few things of deodorant, some toothbrushes and toothpaste, and a few other toiletries into his cart. “You figure we should get some rubbing alcohol and Band-aids?”

“Can’t hurt.”

They grab some boxes of Band-aids, and then they roll back towards the front. On the way past the little stand of books, Az grabs a few paperbacks and throws them in his cart.

Dave looks over curiously, then laughs too loudly. “Seriously, Az? Zombie novels?”

“What? I might get some useful tips?”

“Don’t include someone who screams really loud in your group, that’s what I learned from zombie movies. Or horror movies in general.”

“Naw, naw, zombies movies and horror movies are different, Dave,” Az says. They continue rolling their carts out of the Walmart and towards Dave’s truck. “See, slasher films are going for that shock factor, but zombie movies are exploring our humanity in the face of widespread disaster.”

“You should be majoring in film studies. Maybe after the apocalypse,” Dave snorts. “Or, what’s the difference between sociology and anthropology? I can never keep track.”

“I can tell you how they’re the same, in that neither one of them is fucking relevant right now,” Az says. “Let’s load this shit up.” 

“Time to move on,” Dave agrees.

They open up the bins in the bed of the truck and rearrange supplies, loading up the new rifles and sticking a smaller bin in the second row of seats inside the cab, along with a box of food and water. Once all the ropes and straps are secured across everything in the back, they hop into the truck and Dave burns rubber getting them out of the parking lot.

“You got places to be, son?” Az asks him. “ _Now_ you drive fast.”

“Keeping you awake,” Dave retorts.

“‘Cause I was in danger of nodding off?” Az shakes his head. 

“I never know with you, Az. You’re a loose cannon.”

Az flips Dave off and says, “There’s your loose cannon, motherfucker.”

Dave snorts. “You’re also a comedian.”

They get back on 30 heading west, and they’re just crossing over a bridge when Az sees somebody sitting on the side of the road. The person looks up and waves at the truck like it’s perfectly normal to be sitting on the side of the road in the middle of a goddamn zombie apocalypse, wearing a filthy-looking t-shirt with words scribbled on it, waving at passing vehicles.

“Well, ho-lee shit,” Az says. “What the hell is that?”

“Not a zombie,” Dave says, slowing the truck. “Can’t you read?”

“That shirt could be outdated information. He might just be a really excited zombie. Maybe he’s hungry.”

“Don’t worry, Az,” Dave says in a mock-soothing voice. “I don’t think this kid will steal your balls the way Hummel did.”

“We’re not talking about that. Never again,” Az says. “Wait, you’re _stopping_?”

“Az. It’s someone else still breathing. Look at him, he’s just a kid.” Dave rolls the window down on Az’s side and yells out. “Hey, you want a ride?”

“Aw, shit, Dave. Now you’ve gone and done it! He could be bit or something and just waiting for a chance to zombie-up and eat us,” Az grumbles. “He rides in the back.”

“Ohmigod! Thank you!” the kid shouts. He finishes stuffing a pile of cans and shit into his backpack and limps towards the truck. 

“You gotta ride in the back,” Az says. “We don’t know you’re not gonna zombie-up.”

“Don’t be such a grump,” Dave says to Az.

“Oh! Okay, that’s cool!” The kid throws his bag into the back of the truck. “My name’s—”

“No names,” Dave cuts him off. “We don’t need to know.”

The kid doesn’t even look surprised. “Oh. Okay, that’s cool, too.” He tries to climb up into the back of the truck, but he’s on the smallish side—hell, he’s on the itty bitty side—with a pretty bad limp on the one side, and he can’t quite scramble over the tailgate. “Um. Can I open this?”

“Sure. Just close it back,” Dave answers.

“Thanks!” the kid calls up, and he finally manages to get himself into the back of the truck, looking curiously at the bungee cords. Dave slides the back window open.

“You’ll want to strap in,” Az says. “Trust me on that one.”

“Okay,” the kid says, attaching the bungee cords around his body and to the beach chair. “Thanks so much for stopping. The only other cars I’ve seen for days were questionable!”

“Well, try not to turn into a zombie or anything back there, alright?” Az says. “Dave, how about you start driving again.”

“We need to steal some gas soon,” Dave remarks, shutting the back window. “Shoulda done that at Walmart, I guess.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to get out of there. Too big. Maybe we’ll stop someplace smaller, now that we’ve got the guns.” Az looks back through the window. “So what the hell are we supposed to do with him?”

Dave shrugs. “He had some food, so he’s obviously not useless. Extra set of eyes. Wonder if he used to live in Van Wert, or hell, I guess he could have walked from Delphos. He’s alive, which means he’s survived six days longer than most of the world.”

“Well, he’s small, so maybe he doesn’t eat much,” Az says, shaking his head. “He’s filthy dirty, though. Think he’s been sleeping in a ditch?”

“Could’ve been, I guess. Just sayin’ another set of eyes and ears and hands might be useful.”

“Yeah, unless they’re zombie eyes and ears and... hands, Dave? Seriously? That’s just creepy.”

“Why the fuck is _that_ what’s creepy?” Dave shakes his head. “Az, you are so weird.”

“Yeah, well I’m not the one picking up dirty vagabonds on the side of the road in the middle of a zombie apocalypse,” Az says. “It’s like Dave’s home for wayward potentially-zombied orphans up in here now.”

“Dave’s truck. Get it right.” Dave rolls his eyes and puts in a different CD, and ‘More Than a Feeling’ starts blaring out of the speakers. Dave reaches back and cracks the window again. “Have some music, Kid!”

“He may hope he’s gonna zombie-up, for the sake of his own sanity,” Az mutters. 

“Some people appreciate the classics!” Dave yells over the music as he turns up the volume. 

“And then there’s the rest of us, with taste!” Az shouts back, then mumbles, “Bitch.”

“Need to find you an apocabitch,” Dave says cheerfully. “I should be politically correct and call her your apocalady, though.”

“This is the big _gay_ zombie apocalypse,” Az says. “Probably find you a bitch before we find me one.”

“Excuse you?” Dave glares. 

“ _Fine_. We’ll find you a homosexual love interest. Happy?”

“Better,” Dave huffs.

“So, we’re not backtracking to Van Wert for gas,” Az declares. “How much longer can we ride on what we’ve got?”

“Probably close to twenty miles, but I’d rather get some in five or ten,” Dave says, frowning at the gas gauge. 

Az looks over his shoulder towards the truck bed. Their gimpy hitchhiker’s head isn’t visible over the top of the beach chair. “How long you figure it takes for somebody to zombie-up, anyway?” Az ponders aloud. “Few hours? I mean, it’s not like we checked that kid for bite marks or anything. He could be a grubby little time bomb, for all you know.”

“Dunno,” Dave admits. “Bet it’s pretty fast, though, ‘cause look at how fast it all went down back on Sunday.”

“Maybe it varies,” Az says. “Maybe he’s on an immune-boosting multivitamin and it’s slowing it down or something. He looks a little twitchy back there to me.”

“Look at it this way, Az. If he zombies-up, we’ll know how long it takes, which is good to know.”

“Except he’s strapped in the back of our ride, in the middle of all our supplies,” Az points out. “Which puts that firmly in the realm of shit that isn’t good.” He shakes his head. “Gonna get his brains all over our gear.”

“Well, we can find a garden hose.” Dave shrugs. “Or a fire station!”

“Bullet might damage the truck,” Az says. “We might want to stick with the ax.”

“I’ll remember that.”

They keep rolling along 30 for another six or seven miles, Az periodically checking the back of the truck to make sure they aren’t carting around a brand new baby zombie, and also to ensure that the kid’s not getting into any of their supplies if he’s _not_ planning on zombieing-up. Az is eyeing the beach chair to ascertain whether he could unhook a bungee cord without Dave noticing and let the kid ‘accidentally’ blow out of the back of the truck when the truck fishtails and then skids to a halt.

“The fuck, Dave!” Az says. 

“Look!” Dave snarls, pointing ahead of them. “A whole fucking convention.”

Sure enough, there’s a mass of hundreds of zombies filling up the road about two football fields’ length ahead, most of them looking in the direction of the truck. A group of them starts shamble-jogging in their direction, and Az shouts, “Shit! I don’t want to be their fucking keynote speaker!”

“I’m turning, I’m turning,” Dave says, putting on his fucking turn signal for some reason as he takes a hard left off US 30. 

“Faster is better!” Az shouts. The bins in the truck bed shift around and fall over with bangs and clunks, and in between them is one distressed squeak. “Better hang on to something back there if you aren’t zombied-up yet, kid,” Az yells back through the window. “If you’re zombied-up, you feel free to disembark at your leisure.”

Dave snorts out a laugh. “Don’t think he could manage to get free of the bungee cords right now.”

“Chew his way through, maybe,” Az says with a shrug. “Maybe he’s an enterprising zombie. Don’t be so fucking judgmental.”

“I’ll judge if I want to,” Dave retorts. “I’m heavily judging the idiots that became that whole horde back there.”

“Whitest bunch of undead motherfuckers I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Az says. “I guess—” he pauses to read the green sign they’re rapidly passing. “ _Convoy_ doesn’t pride itself on diversity.”

“Guess not. Convoy? How’ve I lived here so long and never heard of Convoy?”

“‘Cause I think there’s postage stamps bigger than Convoy,” Az offers. “On a positive note, maybe we’ll find some gas before that horde catches up to us, if we bust our asses through this place.”

“If we bust our asses too much we’ll miss it,” Dave points out. As much as Az hates to admit it, Dave’s right, because they almost speed right past the saddest looking little gas station-pizza parlor combo Az has ever seen. Dave has to hang a U-ey into the parking lot, making the bins in the back thunk again and eliciting another squeak from the possible zombie rigged up between them. 

Az picks up the shotgun. “Get the hose.”

“Still say we should get some fire truck hose,” Dave says, climbing out of the truck. 

“You see a fire station, you feel free to get you one,” Az says. “Until then, let’s siphon some fucking gas before that horde catches up.” He pumps the shotgun, feeling like a badass. “I’ll watch the road, you siphon.”

“Watch the road, not the kid,” Dave says mildly. 

“He so much as twitches, you’re gonna be mopping him up off the bins,” Az grumbles, turning towards the road as Dave wastes time fucking around with the hose, trying to get the gas flowing. “Can’t you get that motherfucking going?” As asks over his shoulder. “Just suck it like it’s date night.”

“I told you already, you aren’t my type. Sorry,” Dave says, sounding like he’s not really sorry at all. “Also, I have strict no-undead dating policy.”

“Guess that rules out your stray, then. I’m pretty sure I saw his eye twitching, and you know the eyes are always the first sign.”

“Az, he’s like... thirteen or something!”

“I’m seventeen,” the kid’s voice calls from close to the floor of the truck bed, sounding awfully indignant for somebody on the zombie watch list. 

“I think we’d have heard about it if there was a midget enrolled in one of the high schools around here,” Az answers, not looking back at the kid. 

“No, Az, they’re little people,” Dave says.

“I’m not!” the kid protests. 

“You’re right, Dave,” Az says. “No call for derogatory terminology just ‘cause there’s a fucking zombie apocalypse. I think we’d have heard about it if there was a little person enrolled in a high school around here.”

“I’m seventeen!” the kid insists. “I go to—”

“Don’t care,” Dave cuts him off. “None of us go anywhere now, do we?”

“You got that gas flowing yet?” Az asks. “Now I’m the one getting twitchy. Wish we’d grabbed the rest of those pops from the drive-in.”

“Almost full. Think there’s anything left in there?”

“Looks locked up tight, no busted glass,” Az says, looking at the pizza-gas-parlor. “Not sure we can get through the front without shattering the glass, though. Shit’s chained up.”

“I can do it,” the kid says. 

“You barely got your ass up into the back of the truck,” Az points out. 

“There’s a window.” The kid points at a drive-thru style window on the side of the building that’s half-open. “I can fit through it. Tell me what you need, and I can find it.”

Dave turns around, looking appraisingly at the kid. “Tell us what you think we need. And yeah, it’s a test.”

“Do you have a map?” the kid asks. “I didn’t see a map.”

“That’s one thing.” Dave raises an eyebrow, like he’s waiting on a ten-page list to be recited. 

“Water. Oil and other things for the truck. Lighters, in case you have to make a fire fast. First aid supplies.” The kid starts unhooking himself from the beach chair, made more awkward by the fact he’s pitched sideways from the sharp turns. “They might have a shotgun behind the register, too.”

Dave nods grudgingly. “Beef jerky.”

The kid nods his head in response, then looks at the window, frowning. “I, um. Need a boost.”

“Your hitchhiker, you boost him,” Az says, snorting and shaking his head. 

“Gonna have to haul yourself back out,” Dave says to the kid. 

“Real question is, can you even get yourself down out of the truck?” Az asks. 

The kid shoots Az an indignant glare as he scrambles over the bins, then lowers the tailgate and slides to the ground, wincing when his feet hit the pavement. Az rests the shotgun against his shoulder and shakes his head, snickering. The kid glares again and stands up straight, planting both feet squarely under himself. 

“Well?” the kid asks. 

Dave walks towards the window without comment, stopping in front of it and waiting for the kid. The kid limps over to Dave, who less boosts him and more picks him up by the scruff and crams him through the window like a grimy, pissed-off kitten. 

“You know,” Az says conversationally. “We probably should’ve checked for zombies before you stuffed him in.”

“They’d all have to be as small as him,” Dave says, shrugging as if he’s unconcerned. “Anyway, I bet he can shove some beef jerky through either way.”

“At least you’re not getting attached,” Az says. “Apocalypse scenarios aren’t exactly frog-in-a-box time, is all I’m sayin’.”

“Kid can’t hop, either.”

“Kid can barely walk,” Az snorts. A plastic bag, stuffed full and knotted at the top, comes sailing through the window. “He can forage, though. Good for him!”

Dave picks it up and unties it, poking around before he pulls out some beef jerky with a grin. “Want some?”

“This stop’s taking longer than I planned,” Az says, taking the jerky and gnawing off a piece. A few more bags drop out the window. Az lowers his voice slightly and adds, “We could just go. You don’t owe this kid anything, and I’m not his fucking babysitter.”

“I want to see what else we get,” Dave admits. More bags hit the ground, which Dave tosses into the back of the truck, and then the kid wriggles his way up into the window, perches on the edge for a few seconds, and then drops out of the building and onto his feet, grimacing when his left foot catches his weight. He holds up the sawed-off shotgun he apparently found inside, then limps over to Dave, shoving the gun into his hands.

“I ran out of bags,” is all the kids says, before he hobbles back to the truck and hauls himself up into the bed, shutting the tailgate behind him. 

Az shakes his head then looks back at the road. “Uh, Dave. We all done here? ‘Cause your horde found us.”

“Why’s it my horde?” Dave grumbles, but he gets back in the truck and starts the engine. “Fucking zombies.”

Az hops in the passenger side, slamming the door. Dave peels out of the parking lot of the pizza-gas-parlor and heads back north, clipping the zombie fronting the horde as he goes. Az slides the back window closed and says, “Cutting it a little close this time.”

“That motherfucker just fell apart,” Dave says almost gleefully. “It makes me want to try that again.”

“Bitch, you best just get our asses to Nebraska in one piece,” Az says. “Once you drop me off with the Mormons, you feel free to go back out there and run over as many of those fuckers as you want.”

“I’m guessing we’ll have to run over some to _get_ to Nebraska. Go Cornhuskers.”

“Shut up,” Az grumbles. 

“Sorry. Go Buckeyes. Kill the Huskers.”

Az stares out the passenger window until they’re back on 30, then he looks out the back to make sure the road behind them is clear. Dave tosses a folded paper map at Az, who unfolds it.

“Don’t think we want to deal with Fort Wayne tonight, do we?” Az asks. 

“Nah. Tomorrow.”

Az nods, and they keep on driving for a while. Dave keeps the speed down, which turns out not to be a bad idea when they hit a random patch of 30 that’s cluttered with cars, some crashed into each other, some pulled over on the side, others just stopped in the middle with the doors open. None of the cars have living people, but a few have some very dead, very nasty-looking bodies in them.

“Shit,” Az says quietly.

“Zombies didn’t get those,” Dave says, sounding puzzled.

“Car crash, I guess, and everybody just... left ‘em there, I guess,” Az says. “That’s just fucked up.”

“Yeah. It is.” Dave nods, steering slowly through.

Neither one of them seems to have a lot of motivation to keep driving after that, since putting on music seems disrespectful and they’ve already run out of shit to talk about, unless Az wants to start suggesting possible storage methods for the kid in case he zombies up after all and tries to eat them overnight. When a couple of miles pass without a zombie sighting, Dave pulls off the road and up a gravel drive leading to three houses, clustered around a pond. 

“You feel like knocking on doors?” Az asks. “If there’s anybody inside, I’d just as soon not try to sell ‘em a candygram.”

“Guess we should check, yeah.” Dave pulls up in front of the closest house. “If we’re lucky, these were good church-going folk.”

“If we’re not lucky, we’re getting our fucking faces eaten off,” Az says cheerfully. “Maybe we should make the kid do it.”

“We can each take one house,” Dave says. “Quicker that way.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Az says. He picks up the shotgun again and lets himself out of the truck. 

“Take the closest house,” Dave says to the kid, handing him the ax. “We’ll each take one. Hopefully they’re all empty.”

The kid stares at the ax for a few seconds like he’s doubting the plan, but finally he takes it, dragging it behind him as he lowers the tailgate and hops gingerly to the ground, hefting the ax over his shoulder. He limps towards the nearest house without looking back at Dave or Az. 

“I’m taking that one,” Az says, pointing his shotgun in the direction of the next-closest house. “Your plan, you get to haul your ass way out to that house over there.”

“Fine,” Dave shrugs, heading towards the farthest house. 

Az knocks on the door of his house, calling out, “Girl Scout cookies.” There’s no noise from inside, and he tries the knob; it’s locked, so he bangs on the door a few more times before shrugging and wandering back to the truck. The kid’s already sitting on the tailgate eating an apple, ax across his lap, and Az steps around the truck a little wider than necessary. The kid’s eyes don’t leave Az as he circles towards the front of the truck, which is disconcerting as fuck, not that Az would fess up to it to Dave or anything.

Dave walks back up finally, shaking his head. “No answer, doors locked.”

“We want to try to break into one of these places?” Az asks, not that it’s what _he_ wants to do. He wants to stay in the truck where they can get the fuck outta Dodge if trouble shows up. 

“Why?” Dave asks. “Couldn’t lock it back up after that.”

“Just as soon sleep in the truck, anyway,” Az says. “Let’s figure out some dinner.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Dave agrees. “Some of that corned beef hash?”

“Yeah, if we can get around your creepy zombie kid,” Az mutters to himself. “Maybe we’d best take that ax away from him before we sleep tonight.”

“Hmm. Yeah. Maybe so.” Dave frowns. “We should lock all the weapons up with us.”

“See? That’s why you took all those AP classes, Dave. ‘Cause you’re smart like that,” Az says, patting Dave on the back. “Weapons in the cab with us.” 

“We need a cop car,” Dave says.

“Because you want to live your lifelong dream of becoming a law enforcement officer?”

“‘Cause then the kid could sleep in the back?”

“You’ve seen that kid, right?” Az asks. “That kid’s been sleeping in ditches. I bet the lawn chair’s a huge improvement.”

“Still. It’d be a good solution,” Dave argues. 

“And here we go right back to the part where I’m not his fucking babysitter and picking him up off the side of the road was your genius idea,” Az counters. 

“And fuck you I’d be a great cop,” Dave says. “I’d only take the righteous bribes. No, wait. Fuck. I’d suck at it. Closest thing is a cop car.”

“We’ll keep an eye out. We’ll caravan that motherfucker. I’ll drive the truck, and you can drive your grubby little vagabond around in the back to your heart’s content.”

“Can’t use the sirens now, though.” Dave sighs. “Well, let’s find some dinner.” He looks over at the kid and raises his eyebrows. “Need the ax back now.”

The kid offers up the ax with no complaint, still nibbling around his apple core. “You want an apple?” he asks. 

“Sure,” Dave answers. “Like a first course or something.”

The kid rifles through his dirty backpack, hunching over it so Az and Dave can’t see inside, and comes up with two slightly bruised apples, which he hands to Dave. After that, he scoots to the far end of the tailgate and continues watching them. It’s still creepy and gives Az the crawlies.

“You gonna get the food?” Az asks Dave.

“I’ve got the apples,” Dave says, unperturbed.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Az replies. “I forgot your delicate ladyarms were already overburdened.” Giving the kid a wide berth, Az climbs up into the truck bed and opens up one of the bins, digging through the scrambled-up mess of cans until he finds four cans of corned beef hash. He hands two to Dave before settling himself into the beach chair, thankful they didn’t have to address a zombie hitchhiker situation and get the chair nasty. 

“Can opener?” Dave asks, handing Az one of the apples.

“These are pop-top,” Az says. “Don’t be needy.” To demonstrate, he pops the tab on top of one can of hash and peels the lid back. 

“Cheap-ass,” Dave mutters. “ _Did_ we get a can opener?”

“Bitch, of course we— aw, _fuck_ ,” Az says. “Did _you_ grab a fucking can opener?”

“If I had, would I be asking you if we’d gotten one?”

“Well, shit,” Az mutters. “Then no, I guess we don’t have a fucking can opening. Maybe we need to bust into one of these houses after all.” He shakes his head at himself, because other than a few of the meat varieties, all their cans need opened by something. 

“Not tonight,” Dave says immediately. “If we do, we do it in the morning.”

The kid hunches over his bag again, digging around in it, and then he pokes Dave in the arm with whatever he finds there. 

“Huh?” Dave looks down then takes it. “Well. Thanks.” The kid just shrugs one shoulder in response.

“You’re welcome,” the kid says.

“That a Swiss Army backpack or something?” Az asks. “What else you got in there?” The kid doesn’t answer, but he does refasten the pack and then pull it closer to himself, draping one arm over it protectively. Az rolls his eyes and says, “Relax, kid. Nobody’s gonna steal your stuff.” Which isn’t exactly true, since Az would take the kid’s stuff and boot him to the side of the road in a heartbeat, apples or no apples, but Dave would probably nut up about it.

“Nobody’s gone past,” Dave remarks. “Kid, you seen many vehicles, before we saw you?” 

The kid shakes his head. “A few going in the wrong direction. None today.”

“‘Wrong direction’,” Az snorts. “See, Dave? Now you got somebody to be judgmental with. Isn’t that nice?”

“Hey, the kid’s right. It is the wrong direction.”

The kid nods his head solemnly, then chucks his apple core in the direction of the pond. “Did you come from Delphos?” he asks Dave. 

“We went through it, anyway,” Dave answers.

“Chock full o’ nuts,” Az says. “Well, chock full o’ zombies, anyway.”

“I went around it,” the kid says. “Going through didn’t seem like a good idea.”

“Lot of things not a good idea when you’re on foot,” Dave says evenly.

“Easier to hide on foot,” the kid counters.

Dave snorts. “Yeah, but a lot more reasons to hide. If you had to run, you woulda been shit outta luck.”

The kid half-shrugs again. “Not everybody has a car.”

“Yeah, but I bet you could have found one with the keys in it or something, is all I’m saying,” Dave says. “Az didn’t have a car, either, but here we are.”

“Not everybody has a friend with a car, either,” the kid says. “And it wasn’t safe to stop and check every car looking for keys. They were _everywhere_. I had to keep moving. My feet work just fine.” He folds his arms over his chest and glares at Dave. 

“Sure they do, kid,” Dave says, shaking his head. “I always limp when my feet are working fine.”

“I got in and out of that gas station,” the kid counters. “I walked all the way from Lima, and I can keep walking if I have to.”

“Lima. Huh.” Dave looks over at Az. “Hear that, Az? Kid walked from Lima.”

“So?” Az asks. “Am I supposed to be impressed? Nobody with any sense would’ve _stayed_ in Lima.”

“Just think it’s interesting, is all.” 

“World’s overrun with zombies, and you think this kid taking a little walk is what’s interesting?” Az asks. “Priorities, Dave.”

Dave snorts. “Not the walking, idiot.”

“What, that he’s one of five whole people from Lima who didn’t zombie-up?”

“What’re the odds?” Dave laughs. “Not the five I would have picked.”

“Yeah, well, I heard the Cheerios were out in California, so that raised our odds a little,” Az says. He shakes his head. “Guess you’re right, though. Puckerman, Hummel, and a twelve-year-old in need of a bath.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Sorry,” Az says. “A twelve-year-old _pathological liar_ in need of a bath.”

“You don’t smell so great either,” the kid says.

“I’m not breaking into a house so you two can shower,” Dave announces.

“I don’t need a shower,” the kid says. Now he’s starting to sound a little pissed, and he starts pulling his backpack onto his back. “Thanks for giving me a lift. Good luck going... wherever you’re going.” He slides off the tailgate and starts awkwardly limping in the direction of the road. 

“How far does he think he’s going to get?” Dave asks Az. “Man, you two are touchy about hygiene.”

“Well, he did limp thirty miles from Lima, so maybe he’ll make it to Fort Wayne,” Az says. “Dunno what he thinks he’s gonna find there, though.”

“Not sure he’s going to make it to the road, really,” Dave says, watching the kid limp along. 

“That’s just pitiful. Like a three-legged puppy.”

“Didn’t ask for the can opener back, either.”

“‘Course, he could come back and stab us in our sleep,” Az points out. “If a zombie doesn’t eat him first.”

“You going to talk him into sleeping in the lawn chair?” Dave asks. “Didn’t really want to move any further in tonight, for sure.”

“I didn’t want to pick him up to begin with.”

“You were going to just leave a kid on the side of the road?” Dave asks. 

“Hey, you hear him. He’s not a kid. He’s _seventeen_ ,” Az says, snickering. “Anyway, not my job to look after random kids. He says he was doing just fine on his own, who am I to argue with him?”

“‘Cause you’re the oldest Lima citizen left,” Dave says. “So it’s like you’re the Mayor. You have to protect your citizenry. Luckily the other two were protecting themselves.”

“Christ.” Az rolls his eyes. “Fine, you want him back, go get him. If you’re just feeling guilty, give back his damn can opener and send him on his way.”

“Hey, kid!” Dave calls, though he doesn’t have to yell that loudly. 

“I’m not a kid!” the kid shouts back, continuing to limp towards the road with determination, his back still to Dave and Az.

“You’re _not_ seventeen.”

“I am!”

“You’re a liar,” Dave says cheerfully. “But you can still sleep here.”

“You can’t prove anything!” the kid yells over his shoulder. “I’m seventeen and you’re just bad at the apocalypse!”

“Oh, and you’re an expert?” Dave asks, chuckling a little. “I think everyone’s bad at the apocalypse.”

The kid stops and hobbles in a small circle to face Dave. “I walked thirty miles _alone_ and I’m just fine. _You_ didn’t even have a can opener!”

“Right. Being alone makes you better. Whatever, kid. You going to sleep here? I promise I have no intention of breaking into a house, if Az’ll shut up about hygiene.”

“Hey no!” Az protests. “I’m not the one who said anybody had a smell. I just said he was filthy, and he is.”

“How did I end up doing the apocalypse with people lamenting baths and deodorant?” Dave asks, shaking his head. 

“This isn’t as fun as it was when it started,” Az says. “You get to missing those creature comforts. Anyway, I don’t think he’s lamenting. I think he’s fine being grubby.”

“Naw, he was lamenting your lack of deodorant.” Dave grins a little. “I’m getting some Axe for you two next time we hit a K-Mart.”

While Az and Dave are talking, the kid turns back towards the road, limping a little slower this time, like his heart’s not totally in it, head down and his fists balled up at his sides. He’s almost to the road when a pair of what looks like zombies-up farmers come sprinting across the pavement in the kid’s direction.

“Aw, shit,” Az says, reaching for the shotgun. 

“Hey, kid!” Dave shouts. Dave straightens up from where he was leaning against the truck, picking up a gun and starting to trot towards the kid. Az jumps over the side of the truck and jogs after him, but it’s clear the zombies are going to make it to the kid before they do. Az pumps the shotgun, and he and Dave both try to aim while they’re running in the kid’s direction.

The kid looks up at the zombies and startles, but then he brings his hand up, holding a good-sized revolver, and he fires. He hits the closer zombie square in the head, and it crumples onto the ground, then he braces the gun with his other hand and shoots at the second zombie, putting two bullets into its body before getting one through the head. When that zombie falls, the kid shoves the gun into the waistband of his jeans, and turns back towards the road like nothing just happened. 

“What the _fuck_?” Az exclaims. “Kid’s got a _gun_?”

“Huh.” Dave stops and watches the kid’s back. “Guess so.”

“Hey, kid!” Az calls after the kid. “Come on back.”

“I’m seventeen!” the kid yells, only sounding a little bit shaky, despite having just popped caps into two zombies at close range. 

“Sure you are,” Dave says.

The kid stops limping along and turns around again. He points at the two extra-dead zombies. “I can look after myself just fine,” he says.

“Not exactly two related statements.” Dave shrugs. “Let’s go have dessert. Jello cups.”

The kid looks skeptical, and for a minute Az thinks he’s about to give them the finger and keep dragging himself along to the road, but instead he just nods his head and starts limping back in the direction of the truck. “I have mandarin oranges. Those are good with Jello,” he says when he finally comes up even with Dave and Az. 

“A regular apocafeast!” Dave jokes. The kid cuts his eyes over at him and give him a ‘what the fuck’ look.

“Yeah, he does that,” Az explains. 

“You’re just sad we haven’t found your apocalady yet.”

“Holding out hope for Fort Wayne,” Az says. This time, the kid gives Az the ‘what the fuck’ look. “Don’t worry, kid. Bet we can find you a grubby little apocachick in a dumpster or sleeping under a bridge somewhere, and you two’ll hit it off just fine.”

The ‘what the fuck’ look intensifies, and the kid limps to the truck a little faster. Az still beats him there walking at a normal pace. Dave pulls out a six-pack of Jello cups and hands two to each of them. Once the kid finally makes it to the truck bed, he fishes around in that mystical backpack of holding and then hands a can of mandarin oranges to Dave. 

“You have the can opener,” he says, almost apologetically. 

“So I do,” Dave agrees, pulling it out and opening the can. He takes some and puts them in his Jello cups, then passes it back to the kid. 

“Thanks,” the kid says, taking some orange slices and then passing the can to Az. Az pokes his fingers into the can to grab some oranges, and cuts his finger on the can.

“Ow, fuck, we need some fucking _spoons_ , motherfucker!” he says, shaking his hand. 

“Don’t bleed on the food, man!” Dave says, alarmed. 

“What, are you worried about fucking hepatitis?” Az says, putting the side of his finger in his mouth. “Fuck. You want to hand me one of those Band-aids?”

“Hey, keep your diseases for you and your apocalady, is all I’m saying,” Dave says, rummaging around until he holds up a box of Band-aids. Az takes the box and starts to unwrap a Band-aid when the kid speaks up.

“You should disinfect that.”

“Did you raid a medical clinic, kid?” Dave asks. 

“There’s alcohol pads and steri-strips in one of the bags from the gas station,” the kid says. “Neosporin, too. I got all those single-dose medicine packets, too, so there’s Tylenol and ibuprofen and things.”

“Huh.” Dave pokes around the bags and then tosses one at Az. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” Az tears open a package containing an alcohol pad, cleans off his finger, slathers it with Neosporin, and then applies the Band-aid. “You might be kinda useful after all.”

“That’s actually high praise,” Dave informs the kid. 

“Oh. Cool,” the kid says. “Um. I have more oranges if you want them.”

“We’ll probably all want a snack later. Haven’t managed to sleep _all_ night yet.” Dave shrugs. “Right, Az?”

“Keep hearing shit outside the truck,” Az agrees. “Even if there’s nothing there. These fucking zombies, man. Can’t even be moaners and groaners like the ones on tv so you can know for sure they’re out there in the dark.”

“Next apocalypse, I’m requesting different zombies,” Dave says. “Or maybe a nuke thing. As long as we’re not near a major city, I like those odds.”

“There’s already two kinds of zombies,” the kid says. “That’s probably enough.”

“Two kinds? What?” Dave gives the kid an odd look. 

“Mmhmm. Slows and fasts,” the kid explains.

“How’d that happen?” Dave frowns.

“I don’t know, but none of them ran until the third day,” the kid says, shrugging one shoulder. “It was just the slows before that, all the way from Lima to just before Delphos, but then after that, some of them got fast, really fast.”

“But only some of them? They didn’t all get fast?” Dave looks back at the road, then at the kid. 

“No, there’s still slow ones, too,” the kid explains. “You guys didn’t notice? Seriously?”

“We’ve tried not to get too close,” Dave says. “Took one out with the truck earlier, right? But why investigate more than we have to?”

“Um...” The kid looks between Dave and Az, and Az is starting to wonder at this point if that ‘what the fuck’ look is just gonna get stuck on there. “So you can know how to not turn into one?”

“ _That_ seems pretty simple,” Dave laughs. “Stay away from ‘em.”

“There’s a lot more of them than us, and there’s more and more of them every day,” the kid counters. “And it’s not like you can avoid all the places they are. You need things. If there’s slows around, it’s worth risking it to try to get things you need, because you know they won’t start running. Stuff like that, it’s good to know it.”

Dave shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll shoot either kind.”

“Until you run out of bullets, and then what?” the kid asks. 

“Steal more.” Dave gives the kid his own version of the ‘what the fuck’ look. 

“And when those run out and nobody’s making them anymore, because the people who used to make the guns are all zombies now?” The kid shakes his head. “People aren’t making things anymore, because there’s _no more people_. You can’t just keep getting bullets forever and ever.”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure there’s enough for the five or so people left,” Dave counters. “There’s a lot of bullets out there. And axes, and probably knives or shit. Swords.”

“Personally, I’m holding out for swords,” Az says.

“What if there’s zombies between you and the bullets? Or the swords?” the kid asks. “If they’re fasts, now you know maybe don’t risk it. If they’re slows, now you know maybe you can.”

“Where do we get swords?” Dave says. “They aren’t as common as guns.”

“You gotta look for those reenactors,” Az says. “You don’t want that catalogue replica shit, either. Look for dudes that got armor and shit all over their place, that’s how you’ll know the swords are good.”

“We’ll keep an eye out, then,” Dave decides. 

“I don’t know how to use a sword,” the kid says. “Do you know how to use a sword?”

“It can’t be that hard,” Dave argues. “Not against an opponent that can’t fight back.”

“They _can_ fight back. They can bite and they don’t care if you hit them or stab them or shoot them, even,” the kid insists. “I don’t want to get close enough to try to fight them with a sword. Anyway, I think you should watch them some. It’ll keep you safer.”

Dave shrugs and exchanges a look with Az. Az shrugs back. “We’ll figure out whether or not it’s worth it to watch Zombie Geographic tomorrow, how’s that? Dunno about you, but I’ve had enough fucking excitement for one day,” Az says. “Kid, you sleeping in the beach chair?”

“I’ll find some place to sleep,” the kid says. 

“Don’t eat all my beef jerky,” Dave jokes. The kid nods, like that’s an actual concern, and as the sun starts to set, Dave and Az climb back into the cab of the truck to settle in for whatever passes as sleep in the Brave New Zombie World. They can hear the kid rustling around in the truck bed for a little while, but then he gets quiet, too. 

In the middle of the night, Dave wakes Az up with, “You know, it’s really fucking quiet.”

“I _know_ , you fucker. That’s why I was fucking _asleep_.”

“Nah, I mean, _too_ quiet.”

“The fuck is ‘too quiet’, you dipshit?” Az says sitting up. “Too quiet means no zombies means sleep, so shut the fuck up so I can do that.”

“What about the kid? You think he stole my beef jerky?”

“The fuck? _Dave_ , your fucking beef jerky’ll still be there in the morning.” Az scratches his head and listens. It is extremely quiet. “Did you wake me up because you’re worried about your dirty little vagabond?”

“I’m worried about my beef jerky,” Dave insists.

“Sure you are,” Az grumbles. “You want me to slide open the window so you can check on your beef jerky?”

“Can’t hurt,” Dave says.

Az slides open the back window. “Kid. Hey, kid. You eat Dave’s beef jerky?” The kid doesn’t answer, and Az reaches out and shakes the beach chair. “Hey, kid?”

“Deep sleeper?” 

Az reaches over the back of the beach chair and feels around. “Uh. I think he’s gone.”

“Fuck, I knew he was going to steal my damn beef jerky.” Dave sits up, scowling. “Dammit.”

“You think something got him?”

“You’d think we would have heard that, though.”

“Do we have to get out and look for your damn jerky?” Az asks. 

“What do you think?” Dave retorts, already unlocking the doors.

“Shit. Well, hand me a fucking flashlight, at least,” Az sighs. 

Dave snorts and passes Az a flashlight, turning one on himself before opening the door. They both get out of the truck, and Az shines his light direction on the beach chair, which is empty. The bins in the back of the truck are all closed, but there’s no sign of the kid or his backpack. 

“Hey, kid?” Az whispers. “You out here?”

“Kid, bring back my jerky,” Dave says quietly.

Az keeps shining the light around the bed, opening the lids of bins and looking inside. “Man, I think the jerky’s all here. You sure something didn’t get him?”

“Don’t smell any blood.”

“Don’t— seriously? The apocalypse has made you weird as fuck, Dave.”

“What? You know, it has that... smell.”

“Well, do you see, I don’t know. Signs of a struggle?” Az asks, shining his light around. 

“You’ve been watching way too much Mark Harmon,” Dave says. “Are you sure you aren’t the gay one?”

“You wish,” Az says. “Not like you’re gonna find anything hotter than me now that everybody’s dead.”

“If five of us made it out of Lima, there’s gotta be at least ten left in Fort Wayne,” Dave retorts, then shines his light under the truck and snorts. “Well, that answers that question.”

“What question?”

“Kid’s under the truck.”

“Under the—” Az cuts himself off and shakes his head, shining his light under the truck. Sure enough, the kid’s curled up in a little ball around his backpack with his back against the front passenger side tire. “Aw, he looks so cozy. You think we oughta just leave him under there?”

“Guess he’s safe enough,” Dave says, straightening and shrugging. “Let’s get back to sleep.”

“Yeah, like it was my fucking idea to get up to begin with,” Az grumbles. “You and your fucking beef jerky.” They both climb back into the truck cab and as Az settles himself into the back row of seats, he says, “At least we know why he’s so filthy.”


	3. Chapter 3

If the kid could take just one photograph of something that has happened since the apocalypse began, he’d like to have a photograph of the looks on the big ones’ faces after he pulled out his gun and shot those two farmer zombies. At least now they’ve stopped arguing with him about how old he is – if he says he’s seventeen, they can just accept that he’s seventeen. Whether or not he really is seventeen is beside the point. He can take care of himself, and he’s better at the apocalypse than they are, and the only thing he needs them for at all is company. It _is_ awfully nice to have company, even company that’s bad at the apocalypse.

As the kid settles into the lawn chair in the fading Western Ohio dusk, he hears the sounds of muffled conversation coming from the truck’s cab, the big ones talking about whether or not they trust the kid in the truck bed with their supplies. The kid doesn't particularly need their trust, really, and he definitely doesn't need their supplies. They didn't even have their own can opener! They're traveling too heavy and with the wrong kind of stuff, and maybe they don't trust the kid, but they at least they’re starting to appreciate him, because he seems to be the only one thinking about stuff like can openers and different types of zombies and Neosporin.

Finally, the sounds from the truck’s cab stop, the big ones either asleep or on their way to sleeping. The kid rolls to one side on the lawn chair, then his other side, then back onto his back, but he can’t get comfortable. He’s far too exposed, in the open air in the back of the truck. If slow zombies shambled up in the night, he might not hear them, and if fast ones came, he might not be able to get away in time. The kid lies very, very still, listening, but in the dark, that noise could be a light breeze blowing a few dry leaves down the road or it could be a lone zombies slowly scraping its feet in their direction. 

Deciding that the truck bed is a wash, safety-wise and sleep-wise, the kid gets his backpack and quietly climbs over the bins. He lets the backpack drop to the ground first, wincing at the soft thunk it makes, then he lowers himself slowly over the tailgate, wincing even harder when his injured foot hits the ground. He crawls underneath the truck, putting his back against one of the front tires, and curls himself around his bag, and then he finally feels safe enough to sleep.

**Day 7**

The kid wakes up just as the sky is starting to lighten, before the sun has broken the horizon. He uncurls from his spot against the tire and peers out from underneath the truck. When he doesn’t see any feet—dead or living—he wriggles out from under the truck, pulling his backpack along with him. The big ones are still sound asleep inside the truck. The big black one, Az, has drool on his face, and the big white one, Dave, has his face smooshed against the door. Neither of them stirs as the kid goes to the tall grass by the driveway to pee, or when he comes back to the truck to open a can of water chestnuts. 

He’s halfway through his can when the driver’s side door opens and Dave pours himself out of the door like giant human pudding, grumbling and groaning.

“Hello!” the kid says to him cheerfully. “Do you want some water chestnuts?”

Dave stares at him almost blankly, then runs his hand over his face and squints. “Water chestnuts?” 

“They’re crunchy,” the kid explains. “No real nutritional value, but they have water, and the crunch is nice.” He fishes one out of the can with his fingers and holds it out in Dave’s direction. “It’s good.”

“Yeah, I know what a water chestnut is.” Dave looks confused. “I never learned to tell time by the sun, but we’re going to have to.”

“It’s morning,” the kid says. “I don’t think the specific time really matters anymore. I know it’s probably before eight, though, because usually the sky is lighter if it’s eight.”

“I’m just going to go...” Dave trails off and jerks his thumb towards the tall grass before heading towards it. The kid shrugs and pops the water chestnut into his mouth, because if Dave doesn’t want it, there’s no point trying to save it. 

Dave returns and starts digging through the food, frowning at it. “Didn’t we grab anything breakfasty?” he mutters just loud enough for the kid to hear. 

“Bacon and eggs don’t come in a can,” the kid says.

“Breakfast _y_ ,” Dave repeats. 

“I have sweet feed,” the kid offers. “Not much of it, but a little bit.”

“What is that?”

“It’s sort of like cereal.” The kid digs around in his backpack until he finds the cereal bag, which still has a few big handfuls of sweet feed in it. 

“Sort of? But what is it?” Dave asks again. 

“Oats. Molasses, I think?” The kid shrugs again. “Do you want it or not?”

“Why’ve I never heard of it?” Dave says, but he also shrugs and reaches for the bag. 

“How would I know that?” the kid asks. “It said what it was on the container.”

“Where’d you find it?” Dave asks as he opens the bag and pulls out a pinch, smelling it before putting it in his mouth. 

“Does it matter? It’s edible. I think it tastes pretty good,” the kid says.

Dave makes a face. “It lives up to the ‘sweet’ part of its name.”

“It’s not any sweeter than that cereal with the marshmallows,” the kid insists. “I wish there were still electricity, though. I want coffee.” He sighs, then brightens. “Maybe I can get some of the instant stuff and I can boil water!”

“Did somebody say something about coffee?” Az says, hauling himself out of the other side of the truck. “Do we have coffee?”

“We have sweet feed,” the kid informs him.

“Emphasis on sweet,” Dave says to Az. 

“I ate all the water chestnuts,” the kid says.

“So there’s not any coffee?” Az asks. “Well, shit, what good are either of you?”

“I’ll rope a coffee cow today,” Dave says dryly. 

“We could search the houses and see if they have instant coffee,” the kid says. “Or, um. Those kettle things. The electric kind. I bet some of them take batteries.”

Dave makes a face. “How long does coffee stay good?”

“I bet the kind in the bags will stay good for a long time,” the kid says.

“What’s your definition of ‘long’, though?” Dave says. “That’s not specific.”

“Does it matter if it stays good for weeks or months if we find it and use it today?” the kid asks. 

“Kid’s got a point, Dave,” Az says. “A latte in the hand is worth two in the bush. Or, wait, is talking about bushes gonna make you uncomfortable?”

Dave rolls his eyes. “You’re such a comedian, Az.” 

“Somebody’s gotta be,” Az says. “And that somebody’d better be me, ‘cause it sure as hell ain’t you or your dustbowl midget friend here.”

“I’m _not_ a midget!” the kid insists. 

“I think we’re supposed to call ‘em little people,” Dave says, then grunts and shakes his head. “Not that it matters much anymore.” 

“Pretty sure we already had this conversation yesterday,” Az says. “Either way, I’m still the comic relief.”

“Here,” the kid says, grabbing the bag of sweet feed from Dave and foisting it at Az. “Eat breakfast.” Maybe if Az’s mouth is full of food, he’ll stop talking. It’s too early for that kind of ‘comedy’ as far as the kid is concerned, though really, just about any time is too early for that.

“This is goat chow!” Az says, staring at the bag indignantly. “Dave, did you just eat goat chow?”

“It’s _not_ goat chow!” the kid says. “It’s sweet feed.”

“Which is what you feed to goats,” Az says.

“Not it’s not,” the kid says.

“Yeah, it is,” Az argues.

“It’s _not_ ,” the kid says, raising his voice this time. “You feed it to _horses_.”

“Yeah, you never did say _where_ you got it,” Dave says with a snort. “Why don’t we see if any of these three places nearby have, I don’t know. Froot Loops.”

“Yeah, the kid can eat his goat chow if that makes him happy. I want food that’s fit for human consumption,” Az says.

“Not sure Froot Loops qualify,” the kid says under his breath. Dave snorts again and gives the kid an amused look. The kid glares back at him fiercely.

“You gotta sneeze or something?” Az asks the kid. 

“No,” the kid answers.

“Your face was all scrunched up like you had to sneeze,” Az says. “You sure you don’t have the zombie plague, and you’re just waiting to, I dunno. Unleash it?”

“That sounds like a bad movie,” Dave complains. “C’mon, let’s break and enter again.”

The kid shrugs and lowers the tailgate, carefully lowering himself down. He grits his teeth when his feet hit the ground, but does his best not to show it, limping along to follow Dave towards the nearest house. Az follows along behind them, probably just to be suspicious. 

“If there’s a window open, we can boost you in,” Dave says over his shoulder to the kid. 

The kid nods. “Okay.” 

“I’ll go around the back and see,” Az offers, starting to head around the left side of the house. When he gets to the back of the house, he calls out, “There’s one that’s open back here.”

“Let’s get you in there, then,” Dave says, heading towards the back of the house as well. The kid follows him as quickly as he can manage, but he’s still lagging significantly behind before they make it to the back of the house. “Maybe these people liked camping,” Dave says to Az when he reaches him. 

“I don’t know why anybody would like that,” the kid mutters to himself.

“Can you get through there?” Dave asks. “Could you tell what room it is?” he adds, looking at Az. 

“Looks like a bathroom. Guess somebody needed to air out the room when they were done in there,” Az says. “No sign of zombies, so that’s something.”

Dave looks at the kid again, eyebrow raised. The kid shrugs, because what’s one more window, really. He limps over to below the window, and Dave boosts him up by the unhurt leg, cramming him through the window. The kid squirms through and lands face-first on a linoleum floor, between a bathtub and a toilet. The rug on the floor is very fluffy and a sort of mauveish-pink color, as is the plush toilet lid cover, and the shower curtain hanging around the tub.

“You see anything yet?” Az calls up.

The kid pokes his head out the window. “Mauve.”

“There’s an old lady in there?” Dave asks. 

“Huh?” The kid shakes his head in a mix of confusion and dismissal, then pulls it back in the window. He uses the edge of the sink to haul himself upon his feet, looking at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t really look like himself; Az isn’t wrong about how filthy he is, with little whitish-pink areas around his eyes and mouth that aren’t covered in dirt and dust. He washes his hands with a bar of mauve soap in the cold water, then pulls out his revolver and slowly creaks the door open, pointing the gun down the hallway before he even pokes his head around. 

The house still sounds empty, not even any quiet shuffling, but the kid checks both bedrooms, the linen closet, and the kitchen before walking into the living room towards the front door. Before he gets to the door, though, he spots the candy bowl, so he fills his pockets with the individually wrapped butterscotch and mint candies, and _then_ goes to unlock the front door. 

“Did you get lost?” Dave asks mildly.

“No,” the kid says. “I cleared the house, first.”

“Cleared it?” Az asks.

“Yes, like on police procedurals,” the kid says, with what he hopes is a convincingly police-like head nod.

“I know what clearing a house means,” Az snaps. “I’ve seen every single episode of _NCIS_.”

The kid just stares at Az while unwrapping a butterscotch candy and popping it into his mouth. 

“Candy?” Dave says. “You cleared the house for candy.” He looks torn between amusement and scorn.

“No. I cleared the house first. The candy was in the candy bowl on the coffee table,” the kid says, moving his butterscotch into the space between his cheek and teeth so he doesn’t choke on it while he talks. 

“Uh-huh. The empty candy bowl.” Dave steps into the house and looks around. “As opposed to the candy bowl in the bathroom?”

“It’s empty _now_ ,” the kid replies placidly. 

Dave looks at Az. “Notice he didn’t answer about the candy bowl in the bathroom.”

“There’s no candy in there,” the kid says. “Only mauve.”

“I’m going to look for some Wheaties,” Dave announces, moving towards the kitchen. 

“I’m looking for some kind of cookies or something,” Az says, follow Dave towards the kitchen. 

Cookies sound good, but other supplies are more practical, so the kid limps down the hall into the smaller bedroom, where he finds a small sewing kit, some scissors, and a little box of safety pins, all of which he puts into a plastic Walmart bag from the little trashcan next to the bed. The dresser drawers in that room don’t yield anything interesting, other than a few extra afghans that smell like mothballs, so the kid crosses to the other bedroom, where he adds a few pairs of wool socks, two flannel shirts that look like they wouldn’t completely swallow him, and a pair of bedroom slippers shaped like sheep, because he likes them. 

The big ones are still rattling around in the kitchen, so the kid carries his bag down the hallway and towards the living room. There’s a door that looks like it leads to a coat closet right off the living room, and the kid doesn’t have a decent winter coat, so he opens the door.

And screams. Loudly. A shriveled-up zombie in a housecoat falls out of the closet, right on top of him, snapping its teeth at the kid. After a few snaps, though, the teeth fall right out, two pink rows of dentures landing in the middle of the kid’s chest and he tries to hold the zombie away from his body, all while still screaming.

Dave comes in with an axe. “Maude,” he says, not sounding surprised, then strides over and hefts the axe before bringing it down on the zombie’s head. Blackish-blood sprays across the kids face and body before he shoves the zombie’s body up and off him, knocking the dentures off as well. He keeps lying on the floor, breathing heavily.

“What the—kid, that was some shitty as _fuck_ clearing you did!” Az says from behind Dave.

“Maybe he didn’t watch all of _NCIS_ like you did?” Dave suggests. 

“I’m going to go wash my hands,” the kid says quietly. “Again.”

“Better wash your face, too. You got some brains or something on you,” Az says helpfully. 

“I hate you,” the kid mumbles to himself as he walks back into the bathroom, washing his hands and wiping off part of his face. Since he’s started, he may as well keep on, so he wipes off the rest of his face with the lace-edged mauve washcloth, and he’s surprised how much better he feels once his face and hands are clean, even if the rest of him is still gross and his clothes and hair are still pretty much mud-colored.

When he finally leaves the bathroom, the big ones are back in the kitchen. Dave is sitting at a table eating a bowl of what appears to be Wheaties. “Face’s still a mess,” Dave says to the kid between spoonfuls of dry Wheaties. 

“No it’s not,” the kid insists.

“No, Dave, I think that’s just his face,” Az says. He’s leaning on the counter eating Ritz crackers out of the box, a two-liter of club soda on the counter next to him. 

“Oh.” Dave looks surprised and squints for a moment, then nods. “Sorry, kid.” 

The kid glares at Dave, then at Az for good measure, then he takes some of the candy out of his pocket and starts unwrapping it, putting two butterscotches into his mouth.

“Whatcha got there, kid?” Az asks. “Is that more candy?”

“Mmhmm,” the kid says, crunching the butterscotch between his teeth.

“You got any more of that?”

“Yep,” the replies, pulling out another couple of candies and unwrapping them before putting them in his mouth.

“You gonna share ‘em?” Az asks.

“Nope,” the kid says, crunching away happily at his weird mixture of mint and butterscotch. 

“Why not?” Az asks. He’s kind of whiny for a guy his size, now that the kid thinks about it. 

The kid grins widely at Az. “‘Cause fuck you, that’s why.”

Dave snorts, seemingly amused. “We can keep all of the sweetened condensed milk, Az.”

The kid shrugs like it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t, really. If they leave it in the bins, he can always take it if he wants it. He eats another butterscotch, then tosses the last wrapped mint to Dave, still beaming at Az. 

Dave sticks the mint in his pocket with a grin, then looks around the kitchen. “I don’t want to live at Maude’s, so should we leave?”

“Yeah, let’s blow this shit heap, _tout de suite_ ,” Az says. 

Dave takes a last spoonful of Wheaties and heads towards the living room. “Should we leave the door open?”

“We can leave the fucking oven on for all I care, but let’s just get the hell out of here,” Az says. 

“You should get some Ziplock baggies,” the kid suggests.

“What the—Ziplock baggies?” Az asks. “For real?”

“You might want to store things in something that’s air and water tight,” the kid says. “Or not. Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“Somebody’s a little tetchy after Granny dropped her dentures in his lap,” Az says.

The kid thinks to himself that he could probably kill Az—both the bigs ones, actually—in his sleep, and takes the truck and all the cans of condensed milk if that’s what he really wanted to do, but all he does is shrug and says, “I just think they’d be useful.”

“Grab some!” Dave calls back from near the door to Az. “Keep bullets dry or something.”

“Fuck you and your ziplock baggies, want me to make you a sandwich, put some soup in your little thermos,” Az grumbles as opens and closes cabinets. 

“I don’t know why he’s so upset,” the kid says to Dave. “He’s not the one who just had a closet-mummy-zombie fall on him.”

“Maybe Maude’s grandchildren didn’t visit as often as she would have liked,” Dave says, seemingly thinking out loud. “My grandmother complained about that.” 

“I didn’t know any of my grandparents,” the kid replies. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another piece of candy, holding it out to Dave. “Did you want some candy?”

Dave shrugs, looking somewhat surprised. “Sure, thanks.” He takes the candy from the kid’s hand and then slides it into his pocket. “For later.” He jerks his head back towards Az in the kitchen. That makes the kid laugh, the first real laugh he’s had since before the zombies, and it surprises him so much that he immediately puts his hand over his mouth to stifle it. Dave grins at him and pats his pocket once, then sobers when he hears another cabinet door shut. 

“Hey, Dave, you think we oughta take these instant coffee things?” Az shouts from the kitchen. “Little cappuccino things, like hot chocolate.”

“Are they caffeinated?” Dave calls back. “If so, yes. If not, no.” 

“Would I bother with ‘em if they weren’t?” Az asks, as he walks slowly into the living room with a plastic grocery bag filled with various items. He reaches into it and pulls out a small can, shaking it at Dave like he’s taunting him. “And lookee here. Canned heat!”

“Getting closer and closer to coffee, I guess,” Dave says. “Are we gonna check the other houses?” 

“No more Maudes,” the kid mutters under his breath. 

“Don’t know about you, but I think I’m ready to get the actual fuck out of Ohio,” Az declares. “Unless you really want to shove the kid into another window.”

“I think I’ll find another apocalypse hobby.” Dave looks around the yard before stepping outside. “Maybe you should take up knitting, Az.”

“Dammit, Dave, that was _once_ , and you know my Gramma made me do it!” Az says.

“But I wanted some mittens!”

“Then I guess you shoulda got Maude to knit you some,” Az counters. “Now, are you two complainers ready to leave or aren’t you?”

“I’ve been ready to leave since Maude,” the kid says.

Dave shrugs and walks towards the truck, pulling his keys out. “Well, let’s load up then.” 

The kid hobbles along behind Dave and Az, hoping that maybe this time he’ll get an invitation into the actual cab of the truck, since he’s obviously _not_ going to turn into a zombie. Dave just gets into the driver’s seat, though, and Az nods his head towards the lawn chair in the truck bed, so the kid scrambles over the tailgate and straps himself into the chair again. It’s still better than walking, at least. 

The truck bounces down the gravel driveway and then pulls out onto 30, heading west. Overhead, the sky is grey, and the air has the feel and smell of rain on the way. The kid briefly wishes he’d thought to get a raincoat or at least a big black trash bag to put on, but all things considered, what’s a little rain compared to other problems? As the truck rolls slowly down the highway, gently bouncing the lawn chair, the kid closes his eyes. He’s asleep before the first raindrops touch him.


	4. Chapter 4

Dave’s taste in apocalypse music hasn’t improved any overnight, Az notes unhappily as Dave cranks “Shooting Star” to an eardrum-popping volume. Az shakes his head and rolls his window down halfway.

“Just doing everything you can to make this apocalypse a shitfest,” Az says. “That’s mighty friendly of you.”

“I’m a friendly guy,” Dave counters. “You’re letting the cold air out.”

“What? I can’t hear you over your shitty taste in music,” Az says in a loud voice.

Dave smiles too pleasantly and then hits the window control button on his door, rolling Az’s window all the way back up. “‘And all the world will love you just as long, as long as you are’,” Dave sings. 

“Jesus take the fucking wheel. Did you just _child lock_ me?” Az demands.

“Johnny’s life passed him by like a warm summer day,” Dave says solemnly, gesturing towards the farmland they’re passing. “You don’t want your life to pass you by, Az. Live a little! Try new music.”

“I wish I’d picked up some ear plugs, is what.”

“Next swim store, I’ll stop,” Dave offers dryly.

“Won’t come soon enough,” Az mutters. He leans forward to look at the sky ahead of them. “Looks like rain up there.”

“If we stop and strip, it’ll save us taking a shower.” 

“Hey, if nothing else, it’ll wash the smell off your sewer urchin,” Az says. “That’ll save us _all_.”

Dave snorts. “If he’s an urchin, does that make you one of those frond-things? Anemone?”

“Anemo— _what_? Swear to god, Dave, I don’t know where your fucking brain is sometimes,” Az says, shaking his head. “Guess that’ll help out if the zombies get you.”

“Yeah, they’re real careful about checking out the quality of their lunch.” 

“Maybe the zombies in Indiana’ll be a little more discriminating,” Az says. 

They don’t drive much farther before the bottom drops out of the sky, the truck suddenly pounded by a heavy rain. Dave turns on the wipers, but apparently doesn’t feel the need to lower the volume on his “classic” rock. 

“This apocalypse is getting kind of boring,” Az says. “I need a Nintendo DS or something. You think we can find one of them in Fort Wayne?”

“I’ll make sure to drive us to Toys ‘R Us,” Dave says, seemingly agreeable. “We’ll clear out all of their batteries and get you one of every game.” 

“Unless it’s full of kid-zombies,” Az says. “I fucking hate kid-zombies. Regular kids are creepy enough, but those little vacant-eyed motherfuckers just give me the screaming creepy-crawlies.”

“They probably weren’t open yet,” Dave points out. “We’ll have to break in. Doubt most people have been raiding the Toys ‘R Us.”

“We’ll send your new best friend in first,” Az suggests cheerfully. “He’s a kid. He might like it in there.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Dave says with a chuckle. “Kid insists he’s seventeen. We can’t exactly check his birth certificate.” 

“Kid can say whatever shit he wants, don’t make him any older,” Az says. “‘Course, if he drowns back there it’s kind of a non-issue.” He glances out the back window at the kid in the lawn chair, or the back of the kid’s head, anyway. “He’s not moving. You sure that old bitch didn’t bite him?”

“Is he supposed to be having a lawn chair dance party?” Dave asks. He reaches into his pocket with one hand and pulls out a piece of candy, popping it in his mouth. “Remind me to get myself a disco ball, though,” he adds dryly. 

“No, but it’s pissing rain out there, you’d think he’s, I don’t know, huddle up or cover up or something,” Az says. The kid is flopped to one side and looks kind of limp, from what Az can see. “He’s not even twitching. I think he might actually be dead, in which case, I’m taking his candy.”

“Who can say?” Dave adjusts the rear view mirror and starts to slow the truck, despite the lack of cars blocking the road, and then he brings the truck to a stop, sliding the rear window open. 

“The fuck are you doing?” Az says. “If the kid’s a zombie, don’t _let it in_!”

“He’s not _that_ small,” Dave scoffs, gesturing at the window. “Hey, Kid!” Dave sticks his hand through the window and puts it on top of the kid. “Yeah, he’s breathing.”

“We don’t know that those undead fuckers don’t breathe,” Az points out. “That’s not exactly conclusive evidence. I say we dump him, just to be safe.”

“I think he’s asleep,” Dave says, sounding disbelieving. “He’s sleeping through rain.” 

“Well, I guess if he’s been sleeping in ditches, rain might not be so bad?” Az shrugs. Just what they needed, a gimpy hitchhiker that’s also a heavy sleeper. “Guess he’ll still clean up if he’s sleeping through it.”

“Too bad he can’t roll over, though.” Dave shrugs, slides the window closed again, and continues down the road. 

“Half of him’ll be cleaner, I guess,” Az says. “How long to Fort Wayne, you think?”

“Depends on how many abandoned cars, I guess,” Dave says. “Or zombies. Or zombies in abandoned cars. Thank fuck zombies can’t drive.” 

“Love how you’re always looking on the bright side,” Az says. “That’s your best quality.”

“They also can’t shoot guns or undo locked doors,” Dave points out.

“Yeah, but they can claw through ‘em, given enough time and inclination,” Az says. “And apparently they can hide in closets nice and fucking quiet.”

“Poor old Maude,” Dave says, not sounding particularly sorry. 

“Kid’s lucky he didn't get a face full of denture,” Az says. “You think that denture bites zombie you up like regular bites?”

“I figured it was the saliva,” Dave says. “So yeah, if they break the skin, maybe?”

“What do you say you and me don’t test that theory? I’m happy keeping everybody’s saliva off me,” Az says.

“I wasn’t planning on testing it,” Dave agrees.

Signs for I-469 start popping up after another half-mile, and Az considers the merits of going through Fort Wayne on a smaller highway versus skirting around the perimeter on an interstate. He looks over at Dave.

“So whatcha think? Around or through?”

“Probably less of ‘em if we go around,” Dave says thoughtfully. “Just the ones from their cars.”

“Guess we’ll see,” Az says agreeably. “Worse comes to worst, we’ll just toss ‘em the Kid back there and distract ‘em.”

“I don’t think he’d be a big distraction,” Dave points out. “So interstate?”

“May as well,” Az says. 

Dave takes the ramp onto I-469, and the first stretch of northbound interstate is mostly zombie-free. They don’t hit high speeds, because of the cars blocking up the lanes occasionally, but other than a few chewed-up looking zombies still strapped into those cars, they’re alone on the interstate. The rain keeps falling heavier and heavier, until it’s sheeting off the windows, and as they come around the westward curve of I-469, Az can faintly see what looks like people standing in the road ahead.

“Zombies up there!” Az says.

“You think they’re more likely to slip and fall?” Dave mutters, easing off on the gas. He bangs on the window twice. “Kid!”

The kid doesn’t stir, but another couple of zombies lurch out from behind a car in the next lane, and Dave brings the wheel around hard, which makes the truck fishtail. The back end of the truck hits the zombies and knocks them over, then Dave corrects the truck in the lane again. He weaves through the remaining zombies while Az loads the rifle.

Az tries to lower his window to stick the end of the rifle out, but the window is still locked. 

“Un-child lock me, fuck stick!” Az yells. “Quit worrying about your dead hitchhiker!”

“Calm you—” Dave starts, but he’s interrupted by the loud bang of repeated gunshots from the truck bed. Az whips his head around to see the kid sitting bolt upright in his lawn chair, firing his revolver. One zombie almost grabs the side of the truck, but the kid puts a shot into its head, and it drops, leaving them free from the zombies.

“Guess he’s not dead,” Az says mildly. “What a joyful development.”

“Maybe we should get a dead zombie as a truck decoration. Instead of an OSU flag or something,” Dave muses. “What do you think?”

“Zombie truck nuts?” Az suggests.

“Something like that, yeah,” Dave agrees. The kid knocks on the rear window, and Dave slides it open. “Didn’t get you, did they?” he asks the kid. 

“No,” the kid answers, the rain still dripping onto him and rolling down his face. “Can I, um? Sit in the truck for a little while, maybe? I need to reload.”

Dave looks over at Az. “Need to get another hundred yards or so between us and where they were,” he says. 

“Oh, I can get in through the window,” the kid says. 

“Though you said he wasn’t that small,” Az says out of the corner of his mouth to Dave. Dave makes a face at Az, then rolls his eyes.

“You’re going to do it, no matter what we say, aren’t you?” Dave says. 

Instead of answer, the kid just shoves his backpack in through the window and starts to wriggle through it, head and arm first, not letting go of the backpack. He has to roll and twist a little, and almost loses his pants when they get caught on the window latch, but he makes it through, plopping into the backseat with a pleased look on his face.

“It rained!” the kid remarks. 

“Guess that’s about all the weather forecasting we have today,” Dave says. 

“Thanks for letting me in. It was getting kind of cold out there,” the kid says to Dave. He digs around in his super-secret backpack and pulls out a wrapped sucker, handing it to Dave.

Dave unwraps it and sticks it in his mouth immediately, grinning a little. The kid also unwraps one for himself and sits in the back seat dripping all over the place and eating his sucker. Az waits to see if the kid’s planning on offering _him_ any candy, but it doesn’t seem all that likely.

“Ain’t this just precious,” Az grumbles. 

“You think after this is over, they’ll do commemorative figurines?” Dave asks around his sucker. 

“Have I mentioned how fucked up your brain is?” Az says.

“I don’t think it’s going to be over,” the kid tells Dave, ignoring Az completely. “Not ever.”

“Not right away,” Dave agrees. “But at some point. Maybe Europe’s already churning them out. Let’s face it, the Midwest isn’t going to be top priority when they’re dealing with something like this.” 

“Maybe,” the kid says, but he doesn’t sound like he thinks Europe’s doing anything of the sort, and Az has to agree with him. If the zombies can take out America, France and Poland and shit don’t have a chance.

“We should stop and eat some lunch soon,” Az says. 

“I’d like to get back off the interstate first,” Dave says, nodding his head. 

“I have Power Bars,” the kid offers. 

“What flavor?” Az asks.

“Good snack until we can stop,” Dave says with a nod. 

The kid dives back into his backpack and hands Dave, then Az, vanilla Power Bars. He unwraps one for himself and nibbles it, leaning his elbows on the front row of seats and frowning at the radio. “Is this the only music you have?”

“Yep,” Dave says smugly. “It’s important to keep pop culture alive, even now.” 

“Oh. Okay.” The kid shrugs and continues eating his Power Bar while leaning onto the seat back in front of him. He’s still soaking wet, and water drips off his hair onto the seat. Az glares at the kid, who doesn’t seem particularly put out by it. 

“You’re dripping on the seat,” Az points out. 

“We should’ve gotten some of Maude’s towels,” Dave says almost absently. “Maybe next house.” 

“Sorry,” the kid says. “I’ll try to drip back here instead.”

“It probably doesn’t matter much. Hey, you were right about ziplock bags, though,” Dave says to the kid. 

“Wouldn’t need ziplock bags if he weren’t dripping on everything,” Az says, slumping down in his seat and gnawing on the Power Bar. “This isn’t even real food.”

“I mean the stuff in the back,” Dave says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the bed of the truck. “And we should try to find another store or something for lunch.” 

“We should get the fuck off the interstate before we do any kind of stopping,” Az tells Dave. “Get away from this fucking city and its fucking highway zombies.”

“Just thinking it makes sense to get food where there’s stores, is all,” Dave says. 

“Where there’s stores, there’s people, and guess what, Dave? All the people are a bunch of crusty-ass undead now.”

“I don’t know why _you’re_ looking at ass,” Dave fires back. “Okay, time to get on 69.” He pauses, then starts to snicker. In the back seat, the kid starts giggling like a seven-year-old girl at a birthday party. Az doesn’t really want to laugh, what with those two chuckle-heads laughing, but he has to admit, 69-related humor kind of never gets old. 

“Yeah, yeah, you gays think you got the monopoly on asses,” Az snorts. “Me, I like a nice ass. Cheerleader ass, under those little skirts, man that’s some choice stuff.”

“Sylvester’s got a whole bunch of boy cheerleaders,” Dave says. 

“Yeah, but they didn’t wear the skirts,” Az counters. “Why? You like a boy-leader?”

The kid makes some strange squeaking-choking noises in the back seat, and Az gives him the stink eye. “If you’ve got a problem with it,” Dave says kind of sadly, and he trails off, eyeing the kid in the rear view mirror. 

“Um.” 

“What?” Az says. “You gonna answer the man or what?”

“I don’t like the ones in skirts, either,” the kid says in a real quiet voice. He looks down at his hands and turns sorta red, too, which is when Az smacks himself in the forehead.

“Jesus Christ, this really _is_ the big gay apocalypse,” Az says. “Just my fucking luck.”

Dave starts laughing heartily. “Not only that, Team Gay’s beating you at kills today,” he says, holding up one fist towards the kid. The kid looks a little confused at first, then he bumps his fist against Dave’s.

“This is just great,” Az says. “Just fucking great.”

“We’ll still find you a nice apocalady,” Dave promises, sounding smug. “You’re just not going to have any competition. Right, Kid?”

“Right,” the kid says. 

“Shoulda let those zombies eat me,” Az groans. “Shoulda let those zombies eat _him_.”

“Life is hard for Az in the zombie apocalypse,” Dave says solemnly. “You sure you don’t want me to find you a grocery store?”

“I want a steak,” Az complains.

“I want a can of cherry pie filling,” the kid says.

“I should have a baked potato so we have a full meal,” Dave says. 

“We could pick us up a six pack,” Az suggests. “It’s all gonna go bad before too long anyway, may as well drink it, right?”

“Why stop at one six pack?” Dave counters. “It’ll help make up for the impending coffee shortage.”

“How about this? You see a liquor store, we’ll stop and pick up a few apocalypse essentials, okay?” Az says.

“I guess we’ll have to live without fresh fruit garnishes,” Dave deadpans. 

Az hears some clicking sounds from the back seat. He glances back to see the kid reloading his revolver, and also putting a clip into a small pistol. “Kid’s got _two_ guns,” Az says to Dave.

“Double the number of zombies?” Dave says, shrugging. “We should look for more guns when we stop again.”

“I’ll go back on duty again,” the kid says, popping the clip in the rest of the way. Without waiting for a response, he slides the window open, putting his backpack through it, and then wiggles back out of it head and arm first, closing the window behind him.

“Well, that was colorful,” Az says. “You just pick up the most interesting vagrants, don’tcha?”

“Really ought to rotate duty,” Dave says, ignoring Az’s comments about the kid. “I feel like Kroger today.”

“Duty? There’s no _duty_. Kid’s in the back ‘cause the cab’s ours, that’s all there is to it,” Az says. “Gonna be cramped enough in here with the two of us, without adding the little dustball.”

“But Az,” Dave says, overly sincerely. “What are you contributing while I drive?”

“Hey, now! I contribute plenty!” Az answers indignantly. “I’ve been shooting the shamblers while you just go-cart around the place. I’m damn contributive!”

“Yeah.” Dave shrugs. “Kid’s shot plenty of zombies, too, remember? I just reckon we ought to work out a nice schedule.” Dave is still being a little too sincere. 

“And when do you take your turn in the back and let me drive?”

Dave snorts. “Az, have you ever gotten to drive my truck?”

“There’s always tomorrow, bitch,” Az answers.

“I think there’s a quote from English class about that.”

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, motherfucker, now let me drive the truck.”

“Let me think about that... nope,” Dave says cheerfully.

“Fuck you,” Az answers, equally cheerfully. “Pretty goddamn convenient how you won’t ever have ‘duty’ then? Unless you’re letting the Kid drive the truck.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a worse driver than I am.” Dave shrugs, avoiding Az’s question about the kid.

“I guess there’s still a chance the Kid’ll fall out the back,” Az says, making a point of being so goddamn _merry_ that it almost hurts, just to see what Dave’ll say, now that he’s not the lone gay dude in the apocalypse. 

“Always a chance you could ride on the roof, sniping, too,” Dave says, equally cheerfully. 

“Uh oh, did I detect a note of butt-hurt?” Az asks. “Am I talking bad about the future Missus Karofsky, out there in the truck bed, shooting zombies?”

Dave just laughs. “You have no clue about gay shit, do you?”

“Oh yeah I do!” Az insists. “You wanna do him in the butt. You wanna make him your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, that’s totally all you need to know about gay dudes.” Dave snorts and rolls his eyes. “I’d tell you to do some reading on the internet, but oops.”

“You need me to be your matchmaker? I don’t know where I’m gonna find a babushka at short notice, but I can see if he wants to be your be-troth-ed,” Az says, really laughing now. “I’ll make you a fucking match, Dave. Not much of a catch, though, I’m sorry to say. If I were fishing, I’d throw him back.”

“You’ve never been fishing in your life.”

“I have the gist of the basic concept, fuck-face, now take us to the goddamn Kroger so we can get your ladylove a can of pie filling.”

“Pretty sure if he were a _lady_ , you’d be lining up,” Dave retorts, still grinning. 

“Now, man, I know pickins are slim, but I think you could do better, is all I’m saying,” Az says. “Maybe find one what doesn’t sleep in a ditch, and...” He looks at the window at the kid, who is perched in the lawn chair with his pistol at the ready. The kid’s hair is finally starting to dry after the rainstorm, and Az lets out a noise of pure disgust. “A creepy ginger kid. Your hobo is a creepy-ass ginger, kid, Dave! You can’t tell me that does it for you!”

“You _were_ the one who posted those flyers about the guidance counselor stealing souls,” Dave says, eyes lighting up. “I knew it!”

“Aww, come on, man, we can find you a nice Mormon beefcake or whatever it is you gay dudes want,” Az pleads. “Anything but the scrawny little ginger kid. You don’t have to settle!”

Dave drops his voice and looks sideways at Az. “Maybe I want you, Az.”

Az snorts through his nose. “Oh _please_. You’d be lucky as fuck to have me, and we both know you aren’t anywhere near that lucky.” He shakes his head, looking into the bed of the truck again. “Tell me you don’t seriously wanna tap that, ‘cause you look like you wanna tap that.”

“I just want to find a Kroger,” Dave insists. “You think some of the bread might be unmolded still?”

Az shakes his head solemnly. “That isn’t a no, Dave. That wasn’t even a little bit a no. Shame on you, he’s like twelve or something. I’ve got gym socks older than that kid.”

Dave rolls his eyes. “You don’t anymore, and nah. I think he’s malnourished.”

“Malnourished and twelve,” Az agrees. “Starting to question your moral standing here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dave says dismissively. “That’s what you’re concerned about.”

“Just saying. What would his mama think?”

From the truck bed, a gun fires twice, following by jubilant yelp. “Probably ‘good job on killing zombies’,” Dave offers.

“Yeah, we’ll just see about that,” Az says sullenly. “Don’t see why you get a special friend at the end of the world and I’m just stuck with your gay ass.”

“Karma,” Dave says with a bright smile. “You must have been a real shit in your last life.”

“But I’m a goddamn prince in this one, so where’s _my_ reward?” Az asks. 

The gun fires again, the loud, joyful whoop following it. “Clean living in the apocalypse,” Dave says. “Time to get back off the interstate.”

“I’m thinking more and more you need to find that liquor store,” Az says. “Numb the pain. We’ll do that before we look for your Kroger.”

“Why not find a shopping area with both?”

“I”m just saying you’d better fucking prioritize,” Az says, shaking his head so hard he feels like any last bit of normalcy might fly right out of him. “Your boyfriend’s can of pie filling is taking a back seat to my liquor.”

“Cherry liquor,” Dave muses. “What about my needs here, Az?”

“Jack Daniels, tequila, couple of two liters of pop, gasoline, and apparently some treats for your pet,” Az lists. “Anything else?”

“Meat,” Dave says. “I need something that isn’t dehydrated.” 

Az glances back pointedly into the truck bed. “Uh huh.”

Dave rolls his eyes. “You’re more interested in things than I am, I swear.”

“Yeah, that’s totally it, buttwipe.”

“Starting to wonder, is all.”

“I can assure you I’m straight as the undead are undead,” Az assures him. “Just worried about your taste, is all. Still think he might stab us in our sleep. He’s a little too happy about the killing part, if you ask me.”

“If we weren’t happy about the killing part, we’d be dead by now,” Dave points out matter-of-factly. “Hey, there’s a store.”

“Well, whoop-de-fucking-doo,” Az deadpans. “Let’s just hope Mel’s Sack n’ Grab has a good liquor section.”


	5. Chapter 5

Dave looks around the parking lot as he turns the truck off and nods to himself. “Looks pretty good,” he says, reaching behind him for the ax as he unlocks the doors.

"Your idea of good is so far outside my fucking paradigm I can't even come up with a response to that," Az remarks while grabbing the rifle.

“Everything’s outside our paradigm.” Dave climbs out and looks in the back of the truck. “Hey, Kid, lunchtime.”

"Okay," the Kid says. He starts to climb awkwardly over the bins, his backpack on his back, his revolver in his hand, and what appears to be the other handgun stuck in the waistband of his pants. When he gets to the tailgate, he lowers it and drops to the ground, grimacing when his injured foot touches the blacktop.

Dave winces. “And first aid, too, I guess. Seems like Mel should have some ace bandages.” 

"I'm fine!" the Kid insists. "Just stiff from riding in the back!" As if to prove his point, he grits his teeth and walks around a little, making a pathetically concerted effort not to limp.

“Uh-huh,” Dave says, skeptical. “C’mon, we have a long shopping list. Right, Az?” 

"Yeah, sure we do," Az agrees sarcastically. "Liquor , liquor, pie filling, liquor, and something for everybody's booboos, apparently."

"I'm _fine_!" the Kid repeats, though he drops the non-limping act as they cross the parking lot. "Really! I won't slow you down, I swear."

Dave rolls his eyes at Az as they approach the front of Mel’s Sack ‘n Grab. “You forgot my canned meat,” he protests. “I need some Spam or something. And we’re going to find a bandage.”

"How could I forget your love for tiny, packaged meats?" Az asks, scowling at the Kid. "Vienna sausages, wasn't it?"

“Ignore him,” Dave says to the Kid, looking at the door. “Handy, someone already broke in for us.” He pushes the door open with the ax, waiting to see if he hears any zombies approaching. Behind him, the Kid brings up the revolver, cocking it and bracing it with both hands as he squares up. Az just swings the rifle lazily down from his shoulder. After a few breaths pass, a lone, skinny-looking zombie comes stumbling blearily from the back of the store. Dave doesn't even have time to bring his ax up before the Kid puts a bullet through the zombie's head, dropping it. Dave looks over at Az and grins. “Definitely more kills.”

"Nobody interested in your math skills," Az grumbles.

“No one likes a sore loser, Az,” Dave says, stepping into the store and over the twice-dead zombie. “Split up or stick together?” 

"Together," the Kid pipes up. Az give him a what-the-fuck look, but the Kid stands his ground. "Don't you guys ever watch horror movies?"

"Jesus Fucking Abraham Christ," Az mutters.

“Shh,” Dave says to the Kid, trying to imply that no, Az does not watch horror movies. “Okay, Az’s liquor first.” He looks at Az. “Happy?”

"Damn straight," Az agrees, giving Dave and the Kid a big shit-eating grin. "No offense."

“You’re a comedian,” Dave says flatly, heading towards a slowly-moving Budweiser sign. “Everyone pick their favorite.” 

"What if we don't have a favorite?" the Kid asks.

“Take a good guess?” Dave suggests, waving his hand down the aisle. “Look for a flavor that sounds good.”

The Kid nods and limps down the aisle, gun still up. Az watches him go and shakes his head. "Not sure this is a good idea, Dave. Look at him. If he were a puppy, somebody'd drown him."

“Not if they had half of a conscious or whatever. People don’t drown puppies anymore,” Dave says firmly. “And no one’s going to arrest us for underage drinking.” 

"How's he gonna run if we need to run?" Az asks, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I'm not even trying to be a dick here, Dave. I just don't want you getting attached to somebody who can't even outlimp a shambler. There's gonna be more gay dudes out there somewhere."

“Az, look at us,” Dave whispers back. “We weren’t exactly on the football team for our cardiovascular fitness. We’ll bandage his ankle and it’ll heal.” He snorts. “It’ll take us longer to improve our 5K times than it will for his ankle to be fine.”

Az looks dubiously up the aisle at the Kid. "Just don't get too attached, is all."

“Go get your beer.”

"Yeah, yeah, you go get whatever fruity fucking girly drink you're getting."

“That’s me, loving some wine coolers,” Dave says with another snort. He does grab a huge bottle of red wine, some nearly-forgotten memory about tenderizing meat with it. It might apply to beef jerky or something. There have definitely been others visiting Mel’s fine hospitality, so Dave goes for the strongest stuff they have. Good to get drunk on, and good to keep a bottle around for pain, just in case. 

“What’d you find, Kid?” he calls down the darkened aisle. 

"It's, um." The Kid looks at Az, almost embarrassed-looking as he holds up a bottle of pinkish alcohol. "Cherry-flavored vodka?"

"Oh my actual water-walking Jesus," Az mutters.

“You aren’t Jewish, right?” Dave asks the Kid almost absently. “Vodka’s a good plan. You find your beer, Az?”

"I found a bunch of my beer, plus some hard liquor to boot," Az says, "so can we get your tiny package of meat and go?"

“Pie filling, too,” Dave says, heading down the next aisle. “Oh, hey, there’s a few of the microwave raviolis left.” He pulls them off the shelf and hands them to Az. “Better than nothing, right?”

"Spaghetti-o's or starvation. Now, that is a question for the ages," Az says.

"I found chili!" the Kid exclaims, holding up a can. "They still have some other soup, too!"

“Excellent,” Dave proclaims, then looks over at Az. “You can write the philosophy of the zombie apocalypse.” He heads around the corner, to the next aisle. “Damn, all the cookies are gone.”

"Any granola bars or anything?" Az asks.

"Do we need cheesecloth?" the Kid calls out.

"Fucking cheesecloth," mutters Az.

“We should take it,” Dave suggests. “Maybe the Mormons make cheese, and they need more. No granola bars. Pie filling, though. Cherry and peach. Apple’s out.”

"Fucking pie filling," Az says.

"Cherry's best," says the Kid.

"Walking goddamn cliche," Az adds under his breath. 

“Too bad for Az, since he would have had the apple,” Dave says, hefting a can of the peach pie filling. 

“Az would’ve had the whole fucking pie at Az’s house while playing _Left 4 Dead_ and wearing clothes he hasn’t been in for four days now,” Az grumbles. 

“I know you would have rather had a frozen pie, don’t lie,” Dave says. “Anything else?” 

“Weren’t you getting some first aid shit?” Az asks.

“Yeah, gonna get you some ipecac,” Dave says over his shoulder. 

“Get me something for my headache,” Az says. “Maybe find me something for my depression, too.”

“I thought that was what the beer was for?” Dave says, studying what’s left of the first aid section. There are two ace bandages, and a knee brace; he takes the remaining cans of bactine, too. “Someone already cleared out the painkillers.”

“Well shit, beer it is, then,” Az says, heaving a huge sigh. “We done, then?”

“Ravioli time,” Dave agrees. “Then westward.”

“Yeah, westward,” Az says, grinning as he adds, “Ho.”

The Kid raises his bottle of cherry vodka in agreement. “You’ll wanna mix that with something,” Dave points out, nodding towards the bottle. 

“Oh. Okay.” The Kid limps off down the next aisle over. A gunshot echoes through the store, then the Kid limps back with a six-pack of store brand knockoff Sprite, looking completely unperturbed by whatever happened in the pop aisle. “I got some pop.”

“Fair enough.” Dave pushes the door open, glass crunching underfoot. “It’s weird how empty the road is. Not going to complain, though.”

“I think the zombies are like sheep,” the Kid says. “They all herd together.”

“I meant other people,” Dave clarifies, dumping most of the stuff in his arms into the truckbed before saving some ravioli and a bandage. “Someone else was here first, and everything.” 

“I saw some cars on, hmm. Day three, maybe?” the Kid says. He sets the knockoff Sprite in a small space between the lawn chair and a bin, then tucks the vodka next to it. 

“Yeah, we’ve seen—not many people, anyway,” Dave says, looking over at Az. “Sit on the bumper with that ankle, Kid.”

“I can do it myself,” the Kid protests, holding his hand out for the bandage. 

“Never gonna retrieve our collective testicles from that particular run-in,” Az comments. 

“Bumper,” Dave insists, still holding the bandage. The Kid glares hard at Dave, like he’s trying to stare him down. Dave snorts and gestures to the back of the truck. “Not working, Kid.”

The Kid sighs, but he drops the stare and hops up onto the truck bumper, holding out his injured foot. Dave nods and pulls off the Kid’s shoe, dropping it on the gravel before peeling off the greyish sock. Dave winces a little at the impressive bruising on his foot, and sprays it with the bactine just in case there’s a cut he can’t see. He wraps the ankle as quickly as he can, then frowns at the shoe. 

“Yeah, Az, your turn in the back again,” Dave says. “Kid’s not getting that shoe on right now.” 

“Why’s he need a shoe on to ride in the back?” Az asks. 

“I can still shoot with just one shoe,” The Kid says.

“See? The Kid says he can shoot with just the one shoe, and I don’t see why anybody _has_ to ride in the back, anyway,” Az says.

“‘Cause I decided,” Dave says flippantly, grinning at Az. “Keep an eye out for more food, will you?” He gestures for the Kid to head towards the passenger side, tossing the dirty sock and shoe into the truck bed.

“That’s just fucking _perfect_ ,” Az says. “Leave me in the back with a dirty shoe.”

The Kid holds on to the side of the truck as he mostly hops on the one uninjured foot up to the passenger side door. He starts to climb into the back row of seats once he’s in the cab. 

“You really twelve like Az says?” Dave asks. 

“I’m _seventeen_ ,” the Kid responds fiercely.

“I’m only asking ‘cause of that law about twelve and under in the back,” Dave explains, looking over his shoulder to watch Az settle into the truck. 

“I’m not twelve.” The Kid sits down in the front passenger seat, moving his backpack from his back to the floorboard. “I just thought, maybe you wanted me to sit in the back.”

“Yeah, I like craning my neck all around.” Dave turns the truck key and steers out of the parking lot for Mel’s. “Gotta find some gas later.”

The Kid nods solemnly. “Thank you. For the bandage.”

“Thank Mel,” Dave jokes. “Whoever Mel is or was. I know this isn’t a shopping area, but it’s still odd.” Dave looks out the window. “No one at all.” 

“Maybe it’s better. Other people might try to take our supplies.” The Kid reaches into his backpack and retrieves two more dum-dums, offering one to Dave. 

“Thanks.” Dave unwraps the dum-dum and sticks it in his mouth, holding it to one side. “Yeah, the other two people we ran into...” Dave trails off. “Let’s just say they were going to make sure Az and I didn’t take any of theirs.”

“I guess I got lucky, then,” the Kid says, dum-dum stick in the corner of his mouth so he can talk around it. “You could have robbed me and left me there.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t know you had a can opener at first,” Dave says. “Who knows, that could’ve been a deciding factor if we had.” He grins at the Kid. “We should keep that in mind if we do encounter anyone else. Can opener factor.”

“But we already have a can opener now, so if they have one, we don’t need it.”

“Can’t hurt to have two?”

“We do have a lot of cans,” the Kid agrees. 

“I wish things like hamburgers came in a can,” Dave admits. “What about you? What do you wish came in a can that doesn’t?”

“Cake.”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Dave agrees. “Oh, man, or a soft pretzel.”

“With the cheese dip?” the Kid asks. “Only that does come in cans.”

“I like the mustard, but yeah.” Dave shakes his head. “Do Mormons eat pretzels?”

“I... don’t know the answer to that,” the Kid says, sounding mystified. “Is it important to know that?”

“Well, yeah, ‘cause Az’s relatives in Nebraska are Mormons,” Dave says. “They’re real big on the disaster prep thing, too.”

“Oh. Are we going to Nebraska? That’s good, I guess,” the Kid says.

“We’ll be able to see ‘em coming, anyway, since it’s flat,” Dave says. 

“Do you think the Mormons will be okay with, um. Us?”

Dave shrugs. “I don’t know. Seems like a dumb thing to keep worrying about, after all the zombies, right?” 

“But that’s the actual story of most zombie movies. The people turn out to be the real monsters,” the Kid says quietly. “And this is a real life zombie movie.”

“Real life zombies, yeah, but we’re not actually in a movie.” Dave sighs. “There’s no climactic action scene followed by the happily ever after or funerals, either one. So we can threaten to shoot the Mormons if they have a problem.” 

“Could you shoot an alive person?” the Kid asks.

“I don’t know,” Dave admits. “Haven’t had to find out.”

“Did you have to kill any zombies up close? Not from a car, I mean. Other than Maude.”

“Took an ax to a few. I mean, they’re clearly not people, not really.”

“Did you—did any of them used to be people that you know?” the Kid asks.

Dave laughs. “Just the guys that warned us off their shit. Not the zombies.” The Kid nods his head a few times. “You?”

“Yes.”

“Sucks you could still recognize ‘em.” 

“No, not really,” the Kid says, sitting with his back ramrod straight and staring out the windshield with his jaw set.

“Oh, people you know, not people you liked.” Dave snorts. “Yeah, Az took out the zombified principal of our school. Guess he won’t be having zombie school.”

“He wasn’t a very good principal anyway,” the Kid says. 

Dave looks over at the Kid sharply. “What was his name?”

“Figgins. It’s kind of a funny name, but he wasn’t very funny, either.”

“Huh.” Dave shrugs. “Small world.”

“Bigger than it used to be,” the Kid replies. 

“Bigger and smaller, both,” Dave counters, shaking his head. “But yeah, I wouldn’t have picked Nebraska before this.” 

“Nothing that’s happening right now is something I would have guessed a week ago,” the Kid admits. 

“I don’t even like Nebraska’s football team,” Dave admits sadly. “Hope no one starts arguing football. Didn’t even get to start the season.” 

“I don’t know anything about football,” the Kid says. “I guess I don’t have any reason to learn now.”

“I liked football,” Dave says. “Hockey, too. At least hockey gets played everywhere, you know? But football’s just in the US.” Dave sighs. “Maybe there’s enough people out there who will remember how to play, right?”

“Maybe.”

“It’d be nice, anyway. Weird to think about not watching a game on Saturdays.” Dave snorts. “If you see any wild turkeys, let me know. We’ll grab one now for November.”

“Are you going to kill it with your ax?” the Kid asks. 

“Not until November!” Dave says, grinning. “Put it in a bag for now.”

“What do we feed it to keep it alive? I don’t know anything about taking care of turkeys.”

“You think we could feed it some of that stuff the horses and goats eat?” Dave asks. “Chicken feed?”

The Kid looks intent for a little while, then says, “If we caught a girl turkey, we could have turkey eggs. Those are probably pretty big.”

“Hey, I know how to make an omelet over an open fire,” Dave says. “You like omelets?”

“I haven’t ever had an omelet.”

“Really?” Dave looks over at the Kid incredulously. “Never? Not even at a restaurant or something?”

“I didn’t eat at a lot of restaurants,” the Kid says, shrugging. “Now there’s not really any restaurants.”

“Too bad, really,” Dave says. “Not sure what we’d put in our omelets, unless we find some cheese.” 

“We could get the giant cans. Or Velveeta,” the Kid suggests.

“Not sure how it’d work. Velveeta, maybe.” 

Az bangs hard on the window. Dave slides the window open and rolls his eyes. “What is it?”

“Pull over. I gotta pee.”

“No empty bottle?” Dave retorts, but he starts scanning the road ahead. 

“I’ll piss through this window if you don’t fucking pull over,” Az says. 

“No, please don’t do that,” the Kid says.

“He’s forcing my hand,” Az says, sounding sort of like he’s trying to sound apologetic. “Not my fault. Can’t be helped.”

Dave rolls his eyes. “Like you could manage it. Calm down, it looks like there’s something up here.” Dave slows down and then turns into what looks like a truck stop. “Gonna circle,” he says to Az and the Kid. The Kid nods and pulls back the slide on his pistol, pressing his window button to lower the window.

“Why’s the Kid get control of his window?” Az demands.

“Kid’s appreciative of cold air,” Dave says mildly. 

As Dave circles the lot, the Kid fires out the open window, dropping two zombies near the gas pumps, then another behind the store. Dave make another circle, feeling like he’s playing some bizarre game of hide-and-seek. On the final pass, a single legless zombie drags itself out from underneath the rack of propane tanks. The Kid levels the gun and fires, and the top of the zombie’s head bursts open like a rotten melon. 

“That’s probably all of ‘em,” Dave decides, parking in front of the building. “Have at it, Az.” 

Az flips Dave off, then salutes with the same hand before hopping off the back of the truck and disappearing behind the building. Dave shrugs and looks at the Kid, gesturing towards the building itself. The Kid nods, taking a moment to reload his revolver, which he sticks into his waistband, pistol still in hand. 

“I can put you through a window again,” Dave offers, climbing out and swinging the ax twice to loosen his shoulder. The Kid looks mildly chagrined, but he nods his agreement, starting to carefully limp across the parking lot with his one sneakered-foot and one shoeless, bandaged foot. When he gets to the store, he stands on his sneakered tiptoes to look in through one of the windows.

“I think you’ll have to break the glass,” the Kid says. 

Dave looks the building over, then heads to one side. “I can’t do it, but can you reach up and unlock this?” he asks the Kid, gesturing to the slot for slipping money under at night. 

“I think so.” The Kid slides his arm through the money slot, twisting his body around at what looks like an uncomfortable angle so he bend his arm up and undo the lock. It takes him a couple of minutes of contorting to finally manage it, but when he does, the window slides up. 

“Hey, awesome.” Dave grins and walks over. “Ready?”

“Anything specific you want me to get this time?” the Kid asks. “Or is it another test?”

“Who knows what’s still in there, right?” Dave says. “If you can unlock the door, we can give Az a few seconds of confusion.” 

The Kid smiles the widest that Dave has seen him smile, and Dave chuckles, amazed at how happy the Kid seems and, Dave has to admit, how cute it makes him look—as well as definitely closer to the seventeen the Kid claims. Dave boosts the Kid up and through the window, then walks towards the main doors. Before Dave makes it to the door, though, he hears a panicked scream come from inside the building. 

Dave goes to the doors and rattles them uselessly. “Well, shit,” he says, then hears a gunshot, followed by another scream. Two zombies suddenly throws themselves against the doors, clawing at Dave through the glass. The gun fires again, but this time there’s no screaming. 

“The fuck’s going on?” Az says, jogging around the corner of the building while still zipping up his fly. “Where’d your Kid go?”

“Zombies,” Dave says. “Door’s locked.” He examines the door and lifts the ax. “Stand back.”

“If he’s in there with that many of ‘em, he’s a goner,” Az says. “You’re gonna let ‘em all out!”

Dave shrugs and aims for the lock, the ax bouncing off the door frame with his first swing. The second and third swings do the trick, though, and Dave swings a fourth time into one of the zombies. “Get ready,” he says to Az. 

“Ready for what?” Az asks. 

“Zombies,” Dave says with a grin, taking out the second zombie. “You think maybe we can get some pop here?”

Az uses the rifle butt as a baseball bat, bringing it down hard on another zombie’s head, splitting it open. “Sure, sounds reasonable!” 

The Kid fires again, three more times, but he isn’t screaming now. Dave can see him in the back of the store, perched on top a display rack of Doritos, revolver in hand and two zombies trying to navigate around the cardboard cutout of a Doritos bag to reach him. 

“Even zombies like Doritos,” Dave mutters, walking over the twice-dead zombies to head towards the two still shambling. Az trots along behind him, actually aiming the rifle and firing at one of the two shamblers attempting to climb the Doritos bag. He takes off most of its face on the third shot. Dave steps up to the last one and takes its head off, then Dave looks up at the Kid. “Any more?”

The Kid, pale and wild-eyed, shakes his head. “It was under the counter. I dropped the other gun,” he says, his voice shaky. “I dropped it when I fell.”

“Shit, is he bit?” Az asks. “Check him for bites.”

“C’mon down,” Dave says, offering the Kid his non-ax-wielding hand. “Az, go get the gun.” 

“He dropped it, I don’t see why I’ve gotta go get it,” Az complains, but he heads towards the front again, giving the Kid a few suspicious looks over his shoulder. 

“I want to stay up here,” the Kid says. 

“Doritos’ll only last so long,” Dave says cheerfully, hand still outstretched. 

“I didn’t get bitten.”

“Still can’t stay on the chips.” 

“I almost ran out of bullets,” the Kid says. 

“Good reason to have two guns and backup.”

“Please don’t leave me here,” the Kid says softly. “I can keep up. I swear.”

“Yeah, not leaving you unless you stay on top of the Doritos,” Dave say wryly. “I’m not carrying out the Doritos stand.”

“Okay.” The Kid takes Dave’s hand and lets himself be helped down from the Doritos display. Dave doesn’t mention that the Kid’s shaky, and he turns towards Az, collecting the gun. 

“Bet you wouldn’t have taken out that many,” Dave calls to Az. 

“Bet you and me wouldn’t have been holding hands after, either,” Az calls back. “So there ya go.”

“You couldn’t handle me,” Dave says, mock-sadly. The Kid still has his hand in Dave’s, revolver in the other, and Dave points with the ax. “Oh, but hey. Pop!” 

“Grab me some Red Bull. I need a pair of fucking wings after this,” Az says. He comes out from behind the counter with the pistol in his hand. “You sure he’s not bit?”

“No bites.” Dave shrugs and heads towards the pop. “Damn, this place is nice. Pringles!”

“I don’t think anybody’s been in here but these undead fucks,” Az says. “Whole shelf of Slim Jims, barely looks touched.”

“To go with my red wine,” Dave says. “Grab ‘em.”

“To go with— you know, just forget I asked,” Az says, grabbing the boxes of Slim Jims. “You two have a nice time doing the shopping. I’ll go out and start putting some gas in your guzzler.”

“Red wine. To tenderize it,” Dave says to Az’s back.

“Fruit!” the Kid says, gesturing with his revolver to a shelf with some plastic six packs of applesauce and fruit cocktail. 

“Yeah, that’d be good.” Dave shakes his head. “Never thought I’d miss ice so much.” 

“We’ll have plenty of ice once it gets cold out,” the Kid says. 

Dave releases the Kid’s hand so he can grab some of the pop. “Yeah, and by then, we’ll want something hot,” he says wryly. 

The Kid starts stacking the packages of fruit in his arms, sounding and looking a little less shaky now. “At least it’s easier to heat food up than make it cold.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Dave acknowledges. “If it were really hot we could fry eggs in a pan on the sidewalk or whatever they used to say.” He grabs the last pop he can carry and looks around. “Let’s see if Az managed to gas ‘er up.” 

After picking up a bag of gummi bears between the pinkie and ringfinger of the hand holding the revolver, the Kid nods, and starts limping slowly towards the door. The outside of the truck stop is just as deserted as they had thought the inside was, except for Az at the gas pump with the truck. Dave dumps the pop in the truck bed and frowns at all of the stuff jumbled in. At some point, they probably need to go through it. Dave shrugs; they’ll worry about that later. 

“It Kid’s turn in the back again?” Az asks.

“We can just go up the road and look through those buildings,” Dave says. “Not too early to start looking for where to sleep.”

“Shotgun!” the Kid chirps cheerfully.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” Az says. 

Dave shrugs. “You heard him, Az.” He sets down the ax in the rear of the truck and climbs in. “Let’s find a nice place to cook dinner.”

“Maybe someplace we can lock up and drink our beer,” Az requests, as he’s squeezing himself awkwardly into the backseat. “I swear, only one’d fit back here comfortably is the Kid.”

“Dinner and beer. Check.” Dave pulls back out onto the main road, only driving about twenty-five feet before he eases up on the gas. “Huh. That thing down there is moving,” he says, pointing to the other side. 

“Is it a car?” the Kid asks. “I think it’s a car.”

Dave nods after another minute. “Yep. I think so.” 

“Let’s all be real fucking still a minute, ‘cause I’m not too fucking interested in making any more new friends at the moment,” Az says. 

“Yeah.” Dave eases off on the gas, then kills the engine, and all three of them stay still as the car approaches. It slows near the intersection, then continues eastward, and once Dave can’t see it in the rear view, he starts the truck again, moving forward slowly. Plastic crinkles in the passenger seat, and then the Kid’s hand is in front of Dave, five gummi bears on his palm. Dave grins and scoops them up, then gives the Kid a thumbs up. 

They don’t go another hundred yards, even, before Dave realizes there’s a huge complex of steel mills or something, and he carefully turns into it. He drives around the perimeter, then into the midst of the buildings, all without seeing zombies or other people. Dave parks in the middle of the buildings and turns to Az and the Kid. 

“Let’s check these out. We could build a fire, lock ourselves in, everything.” 

“I think I need my shoe,” the Kid says. 

“Check back there,” Dave says. “I think there’s a pair of sandals you could strap over the bandage.” The Kid scrambles over his seat and into the back seat next to Az, who gives Dave a long-suffering look of abject what-the-fuckery. The Kid holds a sandal in the air triumphantly.

“Great, now he’s fetching shoes. It’s just like having a little Irish Setter puppy of our very own,” Az says. 

“Just because I have red hair, it doesn’t mean I’m Irish,” the Kid says, climbing back into the front seat with the sandal. “I mean, I _am_ , but correlation doesn’t imply causation.”

“I think he wants a kitten,” Dave says to the Kid. “But if we find one, I’m not dealing with the litter box.”

“ _Post hoc ergo propter hoc_ ,” Az says accusingly, pointing his finger at the Kid. 

“That’s the angriest Latin I’ve ever heard,” the Kid whispers to Dave. “Also, I don’t want a kitten.”

Dave shrugs. “Let’s go find us a steel mill building.” Dave climbs out with his ax and grins. “Or two.”

“Can I have my gun back?” the Kid asks Az. 

“What? The gun I found under the counter?” Az says. “Pretty sure that’s my gun.”

Dave rolls his eyes. “Give him the gun, Az.”

“Who exactly made you the boss of this operation? Your truck, your rules, now?” Az grumbles. He hands the gun back to the Kid, though. “Didn’t see you pulling any fucking Excalibur out of it.”

“Yeah, basically,” Dave says, heading towards the closest building. 

“Thanks,” the Kids says to Dave, limping at a faster pace to keep up with Dave’s strides. 

“No big,” Dave says, pushing the cracked-open door open more widely. “Maybe we should bang on the side of the building and see if it draws any out.” 

“Could send someone in as bait,” Az suggests. “And can I just—”

The Kid fires his gun into the building. The bullet hits something metallic that sounds like it’s about fifty or so yards in, making a loud tink against the metal. The three of them wait, but there’s no follow-up noise of any zombies moving around, or even any birds or mice.

“Let’s go,” Dave says, stepping in and blinking as his eyes adjust to the dim light.

“We could pull the truck in,” the Kid says, pointing at a larger truck bay door. “Looks like it can be locked up.”

“Sounds like a good way to sleep,” Dave admits. 

“Better than out in the open,” Az agrees begrudgingly. “I’ll roll it up if you wanna move the truck.” Dave nods and heads back to the truck, the Kid trotting along behind him, and by the time they drive the truck around to the bay, Az has the door up, waiting to close it back down. Dave steers in carefully and parks the truck as the door hits with a bang, and Dave leaves the ax in the truck for once. 

“Dinner first?” Dave says. “It’s early, but it couldn’t hurt.” 

“Should we use the canned heat?” the Kid asks. 

“Let’s see what’s around here first,” Dave says, scanning the building’s interior. “No sense using it until we have to.” Dave wanders around the building, collecting some scrap wood, and then he piles it in one of the barrels sitting around before rolling the barrel over to the door. “Az? You want to get the food ready to cook?”

“What’s the Kid doing?”

“If you want him in charge of the menu, okay,” Dave calls back. “Just thought you’d want to pick.”

“Didn’t say I wanted him in charge of the menu, I just asked what he _was_ doing,” Az snipes back. 

“Dessert,” Dave says blandly. 

“Opening a can of cherry pie filling doesn’t count!” Az says. He says it while he’s taking the lid off the bin in the truck holding most of the food, though, so there’s not much to say in response. 

Dave cooks the canned chili and the vienna sausages, then puts them in the same bowls to eat. That, and fruit cocktail, is their dinner, but there’s plenty of it, at least, and Dave and Az have three helpings before they start on dessert. The Kid gives each of them a bowl with shortbread cookies on the bottom and scoops of cherry pie filling on top, which does taste a little like one of those Jell-O No Cook Desserts. 

“That was actually not half bad,” Az says, after they’ve all chucked their empty bowls to the side. “Almost like a real meal. Shoulda had a beer with it.”

“Now it’s time for beer,” Dave says, pushing the still-smoldering barrel out the door and then shutting the door. “Or booze in general.” 

Az starts unloading beer and the Kid’s bottle of cherry vodka, tossing some plastic cups to Dave in the process. The Kid finds his knockoff Sprite. 

“Here, let me help you with that,” Az says to the Kid, a little too nicely, taking the Sprite from the Kid. Dave glances at Az suspiciously. Az pops open a can of the knockoff Sprite, pouring some into a plastic cup, and then adding cherry vodka before handing it to the Kid. “See, Dave? I can be civil.”

“Thanks!” the Kid says to Az. “And dinner was great.”

When Az looks away guiltily, Dave knows something’s up. “Az?” Dave asks. 

“It’s just vodka and Sprite,” Az says. “It’s not gonna hurt him.”

“This is good!” the Kid exclaims, taking a large gulp from the cup. “It tastes more like cherries than I thought it would.” He takes another drink. “It kind of tastes like candy.”

“Yeah, enjoy,” Az says, opening a beer for himself and sitting down on top of a crate. 

Dave picks up a beer of his own and sits on the ground, leaning against another barrel. They sit in relatively amiable silence through Dave’s first two beers, and once he pops open a third, Dave breaks the silence. 

“Guess we ought to drive farther tomorrow,” Dave says slowly. “I mean, we just want to get to Nebraska before it snows.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t think about checking the weather forecast while the internet was up,” Az says, opening what looks like his fourth beer. “If I had to do over again, and all that shit.”

“We’ll have two months, give or take, if we’re lucky.” 

Az nods, then leans over and pours more cherry vodka into the Kid’s cup. The Kid beams at Az like they’re new best friends before continuing to drink. The Kid’s cheeks are almost as pink as his drink, Dave realizes, and he’s not sure how long the Kid will last before he starts to giggle. 

“Best zombie kill!” Az announces. “It’s brag time. Mine’s Figgins, obviously. Dave?”

“I think the one I took out with the back of the truck showed real finesse,” Dave says slowly, “but beheading the one in the truck stop was a lot of fun.” He takes another drink of beer. “Kid?”

The Kid tosses back the rest of his drink and says, in a clear, carefully enunciated voice, “I shot my dad. In the _face_!” and then does start giggling. 

Dave blinks and exchanges a look with Az, who shakes his head and pours more vodka into the Kid’s cup. “You sure about that one, Kid?” Az asks him.

The Kid nods his head vigorously. “I just wish he’d still been a person,” he says in a low, fierce tone, before taking a big swallow of the vodka, which Dave realizes has not been mixed with any Sprite this time. “He was bad. He was bad and so I shot him in the face.”

“Well.” Dave drains the rest of the third beer and sets the bottle down beside him. “You two win, then.” 

“I think I’m gonna let the Kid have this win,” Az says, looking at the Kid askance. “You need some more vodka, Kid?”

“It tastes like candy,” the Kid declares solemnly. “It’s so... it tastes like candy!”

“Probably enough vodka,” Dave says. “You’ll want some another night, right?”

“Maybe let him have another drink or two,” Az answers. He looks uneasy. “I was thinking I might go ahead and turn in, make it an early night.”

Dave shrugs. “Okay.” 

Az looks between the Kid and Dave a few times. “And you might wanna relocate the weaponry, just to be on the safe side,” he suggests, as he stands and heads towards the truck.

“Az is nicer than I thought he was,” the Kid tells Dave. Dave chuckles and goes to get one of the camp lanterns, switching it on and sitting down two barrels closer to the Kid from where Dave was before. 

“So McKinley, huh?” Dave shakes his head. 

“I know you didn’t know me, and it’s okay,” the Kid says. “I wouldn’t know me, either.”

“I tried to keep my head down, more or less, end of last year and start of this one,” Dave admits. 

“It’s good to keep your head down,” the Kid says, nodding his head along with his words. “It’s better when people don’t notice you. It’s kind of like with zombies like that. It’s better if they don’t notice you’re there.”

Dave laughs again. “Yeah, I guess high school wasn’t the worst preparation for this shit, huh?” He looks around. “Makes me wish I’d done survivalism training or something, though.” 

“I’m sorry I said you were bad at the apocalypse. You’re not that bad at the apocalypse.” The Kid starts to giggle again. “Only a little bit bad.”

“Hey, I used to be good at math, too,” Dave protests, scooting closer to the Kid. “I’m not a bad driver, right?”

“You’re a good driver,” the Kid agrees. “I don’t ever get to drive. I’m not supposed to drive.” He giggles even harder, swaying alarmingly. “I’m a good navi—navi—I can make directions really good.”

“Good at maps?” Dave asks. “That’s probably handy.” 

“Mmhmm. I like maps. Maps are neat. They’re accurate and stuff.” The Kid giggles again and starts to tip over. “Oops!” Dave reaches out for the Kid, which just ends up redirecting him to fall on Dave’s leg instead of the ground. 

“Maybe next time you should mix your own drinks?” Dave says, his hand still on the Kid’s shoulder. 

“Thanks for saving me,” the Kid says. His cheek is pressed against Dave’s leg, his hair straggling across his face. He rests his hand on Dave’s knee. 

“From the ground?” Dave says, grinning a little. “No problem.” He smooths out the Kid’s shirt, then moves his hand back to grip the Kid’s shoulder. “I’ll save you from Az’s bartending, too.”

“I thought maybe you would leave me,” the Kid says, turning his face more against Dave’s leg. “In the gas station.”

“Nah. Now, Az? Maybe,” Dave says with a laugh. “But don’t tell him. I’m sure his Mormon relatives are nice people, anyway.” 

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you in your sleep,” the Kid says. He giggles again. “You’re nice people.”

“Well, I’m glad, too,” Dave says wryly. “It was nice of you.” 

“I’m not nice.”

“You didn’t kill us,” Dave points out. “That’s something.” 

“Can I tell you a secret?” the Kid asks. He rolls onto his back and looks up at Dave, his hair still falling across his face. 

“Sure.” Dave picks up the strands of hair in the Kid’s face and moves them to either side. 

“I like apocalypse better than regular.”

“Okay.” Dave shrugs. “I miss the electricity, but otherwise, I guess I can sort of understand that.” 

“Nobody hits me,” the Kid says. “Zombies try to eat everybody, but that’s not the same. That’s not, um. Um. I don’t remember the word.”

“They’re indiscriminate,” Dave agrees, nodding. “That’s true.” 

"I like the zombies better," the Kid says. "Better than the people."

“I think I’d rather avoid both.”

"I like you, though," the Kid says, his smile wide and bright again, and Dave can’t help but return it with a grin of his own. 

“You’ll pick me over the zombies?” Dave asks, still grinning. 

"I would!" the Kid says, starting to giggle again. He reaches for Dave’s hand, the one not resting on the Kid's shoulder, and laces their fingers together. "Oh. Your hands are nice. They're really big."

“Like I said, good for football and hockey, anyway,” Dave says. “Not so much fine drawing, but that’s not a necessary skill now.” 

"You're good with an ax."

“Which _is_ a handy skill to have, yeah?” Dave asks, raising one eyebrow and fighting a grin.

"Yes. Very handy," the Kid agrees. "You have lots of skills. You're good at apocalypsing, really. I was just being mean."

Dave shakes his head solemnly. “No!” he says, trying to sound astonished. “You lied?” 

"Yes. Sometimes I do that," the Kid says. "Not about the important stuff, though. Promise."

Dave chuckles. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that. Regular lie detector tests, powered by Az on a stationary bike.” 

The Kid starts giggling again, so hard that his cheeks turn bright pink and his eyes start to water. He holds Dave's hand tightly, finally pausing in his giggling to take a gasping breath. 

“You’re right,” Dave says regretfully. “We don’t have a stationary bike. Remember to tell Az tomorrow that we’re going to be on the lookout for one? We don’t need to tell him why.” 

"Okay," the Kid says. He gazes up at Dave, wide-eyed. "Hi."

“Hi,” Dave repeats, laughing for a moment. “We have to keep ahead of him, right?”

"Right," the Kid agrees, smiling wider than Dave had thought possible. 

“Gotta stick together and all that,” Dave says, half-muttering, and he leans forward, pressing his lips to the Kid’s cheeks, then the corner of his mouth, then his lips, all in rapid succession. 

The Kid makes a little squeaky noise, then both of his arms go around Dave's neck, pulling him down, pressing their lips together more firmly. Dave maneuvers them so the Kid is sitting up slightly more, and Dave isn’t leaning quite so far forward, and they keep kissing. Dave isn’t sure what qualifies kissing as frantic, but he thinks it’s possible that’s what they’re doing, frantic kissing without words and hardly any breaths between. 

The Kid puts one of his hands in Dave's hair, the other still on the back of Dave's neck as their mouths part and their kisses deepen. Dave can taste cherry on the Kid’s tongue, though very little vodka; he was right about the cherry candy. Dave adjusts their position again, trying to make sure they’re both comfortable, and he bangs his elbow against something behind him. 

“Truck,” he says, pulling away from the Kid just enough to speak. “Lawn chair’s better than the ground.” 

"Okay," the Kid breathes more than speaks. He lets Dave pull him up to standing, swaying slightly on his feet as he clings to Dave, one hand still resting on Dave's neck. 

“C’mon,” Dave says quietly, walking towards the truck and heading straight for the truck bed and the lawn chair. It’s relatively easy to get the both of them up there and towards the lawn chair, thanks to Az unloading some of the supplies, and Dave starts kissing the Kid again before they really are fully on the chair. 

The Kid pulls Dave down, hand on the back of his neck, until Dave is half on top of him in the lawn chair. One of the Kid's legs is between Dave's, pressing up firmly. They quickly return to the same fully involved kissing, and Dave notes the cherry-candy flavor again, though slightly less markedly. He keeps one hand to the side of the Kid, bracing his weight partially. 

The Kid wriggles underneath Dave, his leg pressing up more insistently as his hand returns to Dave's hair. Dave tugs at the front of the Kid’s shirt with his free hand, and the Kid somehow manages to pull it over his head, letting it drop beside the lawn chair as he starts pulling Dave's shirt up. 

Dave puts his free hand to the back of his shirt to help the Kid, and his shirt joins the Kid’s beside the lawn chair as they continue kissing. Dave notes that the cherry flavor is even fainter than before, which makes him feel oddly proud. He pulls away slightly, noting with some internal chagrin that they left the camp lantern on, over where they were sitting, but the faint light lets him make out the Kid’s face, neck, and chest, and the very faint impression of possible freckles, all of it enough to make Dave groan, very quietly, before kissing the Kid again. 

Putting both arms around Dave’s neck, the Kid pulls him down, and Dave starts as their dicks touch, the Kid’s dragging upward against Dave’s through their jeans. The lawn chair holds up valiantly, all things considered, even though Dave’s pretty sure it’s not meant to hold their combined weight, let alone stand up to the amount of movement the two of them are putting it through. The Kid clings to Dave, his arms and one leg wrapped around Dave and holding him close as they kiss. 

They pause, catching their breath, and Dave just listens to the sound of the two of them panting, still in the same position. 

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you and take your truck,” the Kid says, slurred but brightly.

“Me too,” Dave blurts. “I’m glad you were on the side of the road.”

“Me too,” the Kid says. He runs his hands down Dave’s chest, still breathing heavily. “I like you a lot.”

Dave grins. “Yeah, me too.”

“This apocalypse is so awesome,” the Kid breathes. His hands move up and down Dave’s chest a few times before stopping at the waistband of Dave’s jeans. 

“It’s, um. Better than I thought it would be.”

“I can stay with you? All the way to, to...” the Kid pauses, scrunching up his face. “Arkansas?”

“Nebraska. Yeah.” Dave runs his free hand over the Kid’s shoulders, then down one arm. “Flat Nebraska. Maybe fewer zombies, even.” Dave runs his thumb repeatedly over the Kid’s collarbone, feeling the Kid’s skin underneath his own. 

“That sounds nice,” the Kid says. He closes his eyes halfway, his fingers tracing around Dave’s waistband before he starts moving his thumb across the button of Dave’s jeans. The Kid leans up and nips Dave’s lower lip while he thumbs open the button. Dave returns the kiss, leaning into it and forcing the Kid’s head back onto the lawn chair. The Kid’s hand keeps moving on the front of Dave’s jeans, working the zipper down until he can slip his fingers inside and run them along Dave’s dick. Dave lets out a low whimper and presses down, still kissing the Kid, and he lets a little more of his weight down before his brain starts putting pieces together. 

Dave’s eyes fly open, even though he can’t see that much in the low light. “Oh,” Dave says, pulling away from the Kid. “Oh, shit, you’re drunk. You’re drunk.” 

“Mmhmm,” the Kid agrees, trying to pull Dave back down.

“No, you’re—you’re drunk,” Dave repeats again. “We can’t—not now.”

“I like you. You like me,” the Kid says. “Now’s good.”

Dave shakes his head. “You had, I don’t know, half of that vodka.” He pushes himself up slightly, farther away from the lawn chair and the Kid. “Not now.”

“Okay,” the Kid sighs. “Later?”

Dave grins a little. “Yeah, later.” He slides to the side, looking and feeling for something to put over the Kid. “If you remember this,” he adds under his breath, too quietly for the kid to hear. He finds a tarp, which isn’t really a blanket, but it’s something, and he carefully places it over the Kid, tucking it under the legs of the lawn chair. “Night,” he whispers, backing off the tailgate. 

“Night,” the Kid replies softly.

Dave climbs into the truck and rolls the windows down before reclining the driver’s seat and closing his eyes. He isn’t sure how quickly he’ll go to sleep, but he doesn’t remember much else until he wakes up. 

He wakes up to sun streaming in through the skylights and a gun in his face, and a quick glance to the side confirms his brain’s split-second prediction that Az would have one stuck in his face as well. 

“Get out of the truck, and I won’t shoot you in your fuckin’ face,” says the person on the other end of the whose barrel is stuck in Dave’s face. Dave blinks, taking a moment to focus, before the guy’s face becomes more clear in his vision. The guy is older than Dave, but still pretty young, with bad teeth and mottled skin that looks like it’s already halfway to zombie. One of his eyes has a twitch, but he holds the gun steady.

“Just shoot him,” the other guy hisses, shaking his gun in Az’s face. “We can wipe it out when they’re done-for.”

“That’ll take too much time. You just get out of that truck now, nice and slow,” the zombie-skinned guy says to Dave. 

“Dave?” Az says. “Do we get out or—”

“Shut up, shut up, just stop talking,” the other guy, the one on Az’s side, says, poking Az in the face with the muzzle of the gun. “We need to shoot ‘em, we should just shoot ‘em!”

“Fuckin’ hell, Roy,” says zombie-face. He hand jerks, starting to pull back the slide on his gun, and Dave closes his eyes just before two loud shots reverberate through the building, one right after the other.

Nothing hurts, though, and Dave slowly opens his eyes, looking over at Az and down at himself. They have blood splatter on them, but Az doesn’t seem to be injured, either, and Dave sits up, peering out the window to look down at zombie-face, who is now just plain dead. Dave slowly turns around, and the Kid is standing in the back of the truck, guns in hand and his shirt still off, frowning at Roy and zombie-face with his hair looking more like a wind tunnel came through. 

“Huh,” Dave says slowly. “Thanks, Kid.” 

“My head hurts,” the Kid says, lowering his guns. “And my mouth tastes like fruit.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Day 8**

When the kid wakes up, he’s too hot, he feels like he’s being smothered by a plastic bag, and he hears unfamiliar voices talking quietly. Because everything is still at least partially unfamiliar, a week or so into the apocalypse, the kid just stays there for a moment, trying to get his bearings and assess what’s going on. The lawn chair is familiar, so that’s an anchor point. The heavy plastic sheet he’s curled up beneath appears to be a tarp, and while that’s a new location for it, the tarp itself is familiar. The pounding in his head and the fruity taste in his mouth are new. The voices aren’t Dave or Az; also new, and the bad kind of new.

The kid stays very still under the tarp, listening to the two voices whisper to each other, something about the bins of supplies in and around the truck. They don’t seem to realize the kid is there, balled up and listening under the tarp. He hears their footsteps moving towards the front of the truck, to the cab, where the kid knows Dave—oh yes, _that_ was new, too—and Az are probably sleeping. The kid slowly snakes his hand out from under the tarp, feeling for his guns, and even more slowly pulls them back underneath the tarp as he hears the two voices begin to talk loudly.

The kid doesn’t have any time to think about what he’s doing. They’re going to shoot Dave and Az, whoever these men are. They can’t just come in and try to take their stuff and _shoot_ the kid’s people. He braces his legs against the lawn chair, cocks both guns, and then stands straight up, the tarp falling behind him and his guns raised. He fires the pistol first, putting the shot through the head of the creepy-looking man at Dave’s window, then immediately fires the revolver at the other man, the bullet going right through his throat.

The bodies hits the cement floor with two consecutive thuds, and kid stands there with both guns still out, breathing heavily. Dave looks up at him through the back window of the truck, a splatter of red across the left side of his face.

“Huh. Thanks, Kid,” Dave says. 

The kid lowers his arms to his side, noting how much heavier the guns feel this morning than they have previously. “My head hurts,” he tells Dave. “And my mouth tastes like fruit.”

“He just shot those guys,” Az says, mouth hanging open like he can’t get enough air or remember how to close his mouth. “Did you just shoot those guys? Dave, he just shot those guys!”

“I noticed,” Dave says dryly. “A good thing, too.” 

“You’re welcome,” the kid says. “Where did we put the headache stuff?”

“They weren’t even zombies!” Az says. “They were just—”

“Going to kill us?” Dave interrupts. “I’m still a little shocked we don’t have bullet holes in us, Az.”

“There’s blood on your face,” the kid says to Dave. He smiles widely. “Good morning.”

“Morning, and I kinda figured.” Dave opens the truck door and climbs out. “Guess we should clean up and get gone, in case they had friends.”

The kid sticks his guns back into his waistband, tugging up his pants so the weight of both guns doesn’t drag them down, then he opens a bin and digs through it finds a wad of napkins from a fast food place. He hands them to Dave with an apologetic shrug. 

“Best I could find. We need baby wipes or something,” the kid says.

“Those guys were gonna shoot us!” Az says, still sitting in the passenger seat looking stunned. “And the Kid shot ‘em!”

Dave hands Az half of the wad of napkins, then starts cleaning off his face. “Yeah, well, at least we’re not the dead ones,” Dave says practically. “We’ll eat breakfast after we get out of here.”

The kid nods and lowers himself down from the truck, limping over to start dragging some of the supplies back towards the truck bed. Dave looks over at Az expectantly, and after another minute of sitting there gaping, Az gets out and starts lifting the bins into the truck, even taking the one the kid’s dragging away from him. Dave picks up the ax and goes over to the door, looking out for a minute before walking back over to the truck. 

“Don’t see anyone.”

The kid squats down by the body on the passenger side of the truck and starts rifling through its pockets. He finds a lighter, a second clip for the gun the man had held at Az, a pack of gum, and a bunch of jelly bracelets like the girls used to wear in middle school, in all the different colors. The kid pockets everything but the clip, which he tosses into the passenger seat, and the jelly bracelets, which he puts on. 

“Do you want some gum?” the kid asks Dave, as he walks around to the other body. “My mouth tastes like cherries _so_ much.”

“I’m good until after breakfast at least,” Dave answers, picking up a few stray things. “Az, you want to be on the lookout for a place to stop and eat, once we leave here?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Az says. “I need to sit in the back?”

The kid kneels by the other body, going through its pockets, too. He takes the holster and the belt it’s attached to, the boots the dead man had been wearing, discards the plastic baggies full of what looks like rock candy, but which the kid is one hundred percent certain is _not_ rock candy, and takes the dead man’s gun. He hands this gun to Dave, though he puts the belt with its holster on himself, holstering his pistol. 

“Whatever floats everyone’s nonexistent boats,” Dave says with a snort. “Could you imagine if you had a boat, and you were out on the lake when it hit? You’d be confused that evening, coming back.”

“But you might have fish,” the kid says, shrugging. He puts a slice of the dead man’s gum into his mouth and chews it. 

“Still confusing.” Dave climbs into the truck. “Well, let’s get out of this body dumping ground, I guess.” He looks conflicted about something, but doesn’t continue speaking.

The kid slides into the truck from the passenger side, and keeps on sliding, so instead of sitting by the window, he’s sitting right in the middle next to Dave. He gives Dave a big smile that hopefully doesn’t look like the smile of a person who’d shoot two non-zombied actual humans, because even if it was necessary, it probably is a little disconcerting. 

“Oh, saints preserve us,” Az says, looking in the car at the kid and Dave. “I’ll just ride in the back row, cramped legs and all.” He gets into the second row of seats. “We’re good to go.”

Dave starts the truck and heads through the now-open bay door, going as fast as he seems comfortable with and turning back onto the main road. “Try to put some miles behind us today,” Dave says. 

“Let’s get the fuck outta Dodge,” Az agrees. “That shit was fucked up.”

The kid moves a little closer to Dave on the bench seat, resting his hand on the seat right next to Dave’s leg, but not touching it. “They shouldn’t have tried to steal our stuff,” he says to Az. 

“Damn right they shouldn’t’ve,” Az says. 

“On the other hand, maybe it means we won’t have other people bothering us today,” Dave points out. 

“I wouldn’t bother us,” the kid remarks. “Did anybody find the headache stuff? It wasn’t in the bin with the napkins.”

“We probably ought to sort it out at some point,” Dave says. “Haven’t yet, though.”

“Too bad,” the kid says. His head does hurt, pretty badly actually, and even with the gum, his mouth still has a lingering cherry flavor to it, though that part is kind of nice, because it makes him think of all the kissing. The kid hopes Dave doesn’t regret all that kissing, and that he might want to do more of it later, perhaps without the sudden stop at the end. Maybe most especially without the sudden stop at the end.

“Need the air turned up?” Dave asks. 

“No,” the kid says, cocking his head to look at Dave. “I’m good.”

“If you’re sure,” Dave says, and a few beats too many pass before Dave looks back at Az. “What about you?”

“It’s a little warm back here,” Az says. “Damn, I could really use a Wendy’s frosty right about now.”

Dave turns the air up, shaking his head. “If you find a Wendy’s with electricity, we’ll get one.”

“Stranger things have happened, Dave. Maybe some enterprising sumbitch has a generator going,” Az says. “We could trade him the Kid for a frosty and a sack of junior bacon cheeseburgers.”

“Hey!” the kid protests.

“Two sacks full,” Az says.

“I was just going to let the Kid draw on him,” Dave says mildly.

“Then we can have all the frosties and cheeseburgers,” the kid says.

“See?”

“But not Az, because he wanted to trade me,” the kid says.

“Only ‘cause I knew you could probably get free just fine,” Az insists. “You’re enterprising.”

The kid doesn’t say anything in response, but he moves his hand over just enough that his pinkie—and _only_ his pinkie—touches Dave’s leg. Dave looks down for a split second, then back at the road, and he smiles a little a few seconds later. 

“See any signs or anything, Az?” Dave asks a few moments later.

“This road’s a lot of nothing,” Az says. 

“Gotta be something eventually,” Dave muses. “It’s a US highway.”

“We’re hitting the edge of Columbia City. We can probably find something up there,” Az says. “I’m keeping an eye out for signs.”

“Weird to think some people might be driving through Lima from somewhere else,” Dave says with a little snort. 

“Not if they’re smart,” the kid says, then his eyes wide. “H.”

“H?”

The kid points at the sign. “H for hospital.”

“Where’s the one place you do _not_ wanna be early in a zombie apocalypse?” Az says. “Anybody who guesses ‘H for hospital’ gets a complimentary zombie swarm.”

“Free with purchase?” Dave asks dryly. “Let’s not stop there.”

“Let’s just get past this town and its hospital, and hold out for the next set of stops,” Az suggests.

“We’ve got enough gas,” Dave agrees, nodding. 

Dave drives faster, and the kid looks out of the driver’s side window, in the direction the hospital sign pointed. In between the trees and the houses, he sees movement. No definitive shapes, just movement, like a mass too big to have individual parts anymore. He remembers the herd of zombies that passed over him when he was in the culvert and shudders. 

“Maybe even faster,” the kid suggests.

“Weird there’s not more cars stopped,” Dave says, but he does accelerate somewhat as they leave Columbia City behind. 

“Maybe they all headed towards Fort Wayne,” Az says. “Got stuck in the city. Or they were in that wreck way back near Van Wert.”

“Or they died and got turned into zombies before they could drive anywhere,” the kid offers.

“Morbid, is what you are,” Az says. The kid shrugs and doesn’t argue what seems like an obviously true statement.

Nobody talks after that, though Az does make some complaining grumbles in the backseat. The kid moves his ring finger over to rest next to his pinkie finger against Dave’s leg. After another half a mile, he slides his middle and index fingers over as well, the backs of his fingers all pressing against the side of Dave’s leg.

Dave slows the truck after a few more miles, even before a stopping place is suggested. “Getting hungry,” he remarks. The kid nods, though he’s not particularly hungry yet. He has no problem with stopping at a zombie-free area for a while to stretch his legs. They pass a mobile home park on the right, then a sales lot for travel trailers, and then Dave slows even more, crossing over the eastbound lanes of 30 to pull into the parking lot of Rosell’s Restaurant, which advertises ‘The Best of Both Worlds’. Both worlds seem to be Mexican and American, which seems sort of odd, because those worlds are actually very close together.

“I’m thinking they don’t proudly serve that much Pepsi these days,” Az notes. “Maybe they’ve got bottles, though.”

“Canned cheese,” the kid says. “And tequila.”

“Won’t take long, either. Not a big place,” Dave says. He parks in the space one down from the handicapped space, and all three of them take a moment to check and reload their guns before getting out of the truck. 

“Refried beans. You can eat that shit right out of the can and it still tastes good,” Az says cheerily. “If they’ve got canned enchilada sauce, we can make something fancy.”

“Just want to put more space between us and those creeps,” Dave says, looking around uneasily. 

“We can get in and out quickly,” the kid says. “We can eat beans in the truck. We have a can opener.”

The front door is locked, but Az throws his weight behind his shoulder and rams into a few times, popping it open. They all three step backwards quickly, waiting, but nothing comes out and nothing inside makes a noise. Dave steps inside, squinting, then reaches behind him with the hand not holding a gun to wave them inside. Az goes in next, with the kid following behind him, pistol at the ready.

“You see any undead fuckers up there, Dave?” Az asks, too loudly for the space. 

“Just you, Az. Just you.”

“I’m hurt, Dave. Seriously, you wound me to the very fucking core.”

“I can tell.” Dave walks into the kitchen area. “Canned food heaven.”

“Doesn’t smell too bad in here. I figured it would stink to high heaven, speaking of heaven,” Az notes, peering around the kitchen. “They got a walk-in cooler back there?”

The kid starts looking at the cans on the long storage shelf, sorting out the useful stuff, like black beans and Az’s refried beans, from the stuff he can’t identify, like something called ‘hominy’ that looks like squishy white corn. He also puts all the canned and jarred peppers and pepper sauces to the side, though he snags a few cans of enchilada sauce for Az. 

“Oh!” the kid says, when he pushes a big can of broth out of the way and discovers a stack of smaller, tuna-style cans.

“What is it?” Dave asks a few seconds later. The kid tosses one of the cans to Dave, who grins. “Awesome. Find anything good, Az?”

“Some sardines. Whole bunch of canned cheese, canned condensed milk, and some canned dulce de leche,” Az says. He holds up a can of dulce de leche and shakes it. “I think that makes me the winner.”

“I’ll be sure to look for a trophy shop to stop at,” Dave says solemnly. “Nice. We could bake a cake, if we had an oven. But we should take the 10x and the brown sugar.”

“Yes, get the brown sugar,” the kid agrees. 

“We’ve gonna come out of this thing with cavities,” Az says. “We should think about getting some toothbrushes and shit like that.”

“Don’t take the abalone, because it looks gross,” the kid adds, pushing that can far to the back of the shelf. “All this stuff is ready to go, if we can find a box or something.”

“Pretty sure there’s no toothbrushes here,” Dave says. “Boxes over here, though.” He produces two boxes, handing one to the kid and one to Az. Both Az and the kid start stacking the cans from their sections into the boxes. 

“Hey, hang on,” Az says. He puts up a hand and gestures towards the back of the store, where the walk-in cooler is. “You hear that?” Dave shakes his head. “No, I heard something. Like a thumping sound. Kid, d’you hear it?”

The kid listens starts to shake his head, but then he does hear it, a muffled thump coming from behind the cooler door. His eyes widen as he turns to Az, nodding. “In the cooler,” the kid says. 

“Yeah, sounds like it’s knocking, almost,” Az says. “You think it’s a zombie?”

“Don’t you think a human’d say something, not just knock?” Dave asks.

“Should we ask who’s there?” the kid whispers. 

“I think we should take our boxes and get the fuck out of here,” Az says. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Dave says, picking up a box of his own and heading towards the door. “Maybe we should dine ‘n drive.”

“Your Kid can open some cans for you,” Az agrees. 

“Uh-huh,” Dave says, sounding distracted, and he heads to the door. “Time to leave the best of both worlds behind.”

“Maybe it means zombie and human,” the kid says, which makes more sense than Mexico and America, as far as he’s concerned. He picks up the box he’d been filling, even though it makes it hard to hold his gun, and follows Dave to the door, Az bringing up the rear this time. 

Dave puts his box in the rear and immediately climbs into the truck, gun still in hand. The kid sets his box in the front passenger seat, climbing over it to sit in the middle again, and Az gets into the back, presumably after putting his box somewhere. The kid reaches for his backpack, retrieving the can opener, and hands the opener and a can of refried beans back to Az, Dave whipping out of the lot and back onto 30 westbound.

The drive silently through the tiny town of Pierceton, Indiana, making a cursory stop at a gas station on the edge of town, just long enough to fill the tank. They don’t even try to go into the building, for which the kid is immensely thankful, and he watches the road with his gun drawn while Az and Dave gas up the truck. When they’re back on the road again, Dave’s eyes keep returning to the rearview mirror, looking behind them. The kid puts his hand on Dave’s thigh while they drive, because it’s all he can do, really. He can’t make those guys not put their guns in Dave and Az’s faces. He can’t make the zombies disappear. He can’t make things go back to normal for anyone.

They drive at a decent clip for around fifteen minutes, slowing to weave around a few stalled-out or abandoned cars and the occasional lone slow zombie. At one point on the very outskirts of Warsaw, Dave clips one of the fasts with his sideview mirror, popping its head off; that makes Az laugh loudly. He stops laughing as they start around a curve in the road, only to come upon a wall of wrecked or abandoned vehicles. 

Dave’s hands clench around the steering wheel, his knuckles white, and he slows down the truck. The kid squeezes Dave’s leg, the only real reassurance he can offer. Dave doesn’t respond exactly, but the kid thinks maybe his knuckles go a little less white on the steering wheel.

“Shit,” Az mutters. His empty can of beans clanks as it falls to the floorboard. “Can we even get around all this?”

“Dunno,” Dave mutters, the truck inching forward. “Gotta.”

Dave drives onto the grass median to pass the first few cars, swerving back up onto the highway when the median is blocked by two cars with a tarp set up between them like a tent. As they get deeper into the wreckage, the cars go from empty and and abandoned to bloody and occupied by decaying bodies. They pass a minivan with a large body, down to mostly bones, slumped over the steering wheel; several pairs of hands appear in the van’s window, scratching and pounding at the glass. Some of the hands are very, very small. 

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Az says. His voice sounds strained, and he makes a sort of dry-heaving noise a few times.

“Bag!” Dave says, sounding alarmed. 

The kid dumps out the contents of a plastic bag on the floorboard and hands the bag back to Az, who promptly pukes in it, pausing to say “Oh Jesus Christ” again before puking into the bag a few more times. When he stops, the kid rolls down the window, and Az tosses the bag out. 

“Sorry about that,” Az says, wiping his mouth with some of the fast food napkins. “Those little tiny hands, man.”

“This is a nightmare,” Dave says, still staring at the road and the wrecked cars in front of them. The road ahead is blocked again, and this time the median is too, and Dave has to pull all the way over to the far lane of the eastbound side to get around them, driving half on the pavement and half on the grass. The kid slips his pistol out of the holster again and cocks it, cracking his window slightly so he can poke the gun out if he has to. It smells like rotting hamburger outside; he rolls the window back up immediately, setting the gun on top of the box next to him. 

Finally, even the lane they’re halfway in is blocked by a Volkswagen, which has been t-boned by a red convertible. The convertible’s windshield has a big circle punched through the glass, edged in red. The Volkswagen is empty and looks untouched inside, just the big dent in its side. 

“We can move those, probably,” Az says. “You drive, I’ll push. Kid can cover us.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dave agrees, nodding. He stops the truck, and Az and the kid both climb out, the kid giving Dave a quick backward glance with what he hopes is a reassuring smile. The corners of Dave’s mouth twitch, like he can’t quite smile, and he nods at the kid. 

The kid watches the wreckage around Az, while Az leans into the Volkswagen. The engine coughs and finally catches. Az climbs inside and backs up the Volkswagen just enough for Dave to inch the truck around it, before getting out and walking up to the next section of cars, the kid following along behind him. The kid scans the cars around them for movement, noise, anything that might suggest zombies or people. 

Az tries starting an old pickup. When that doesn’t work, he puts it in neutral and walks it forward, letting it roll down into the ditch past the shoulder. Dave pulls forward and through the narrow space, scraping part of the truck’s back right wheel well, and the kid glances over at Dave’s truck, looking back at the wreckage around him in just enough time to see a pair of fasts sprinting towards him. The kid fires at them, needing two shots apiece to put them down. As their bodies drop, the kid sees more zombies moving awkwardly between the broken-down vehicles, some quickly and some at a slow shamble. 

“Az!” the kid shouts. “Are we clear?”

“Almost,” Az calls back. “Gotta get some tent city shit out of the way to move this one.”

“Faster, please!” the kid yells. He starts slowly walking backwards towards the truck, catching his bandaged, sandaled foot on a scrap of metal and staggering. He shoots the closest zombie, still a few cars away, and fires at one that keeps poking its head over a white sedan, missing. Behind him, the kid can hear the sound of Az moving a car, it banging into other cars, but he doesn’t dare look away from the zombies. He shoots the sedan-dodger again, winging it this time, then fires between two cars to get a fat, slow zombie in the face. 

“Almost done!” Az shouts again. 

“Just get in!” Dave calls out to the kid. 

“They’re still coming!” the kid says. “We’ve gotta get the truck through!”

“Az has it!”

“There’s fasts! They’ll get him!” The kid shoots at the zombie by the sedan again, getting it this time, but now the slower ones have started to catch up to them, coming through the cars together. 

“Now, Kid!” 

The kid fires haphazardly into the encroaching wall of zombies as he walks backwards to the truck as quickly as he can. He climbs into the seat, Az hopping in almost immediately after.

“We’re good! Go! Go!” Az shouts.

Dave accelerates, still not speeding, but going much more quickly through the areas Az has cleared. “Can’t keep doing this,” Dave says, staring far ahead for a moment. 

“What other choice we got?” Az asks. “There an exit anywhere? A fucking slope we can drive down? Anything?”

“Maybe an exit up here,” Dave says after a few more seconds pass. “Get around this fucking mess.”

A faster zombies lunges out from between two cars as they pass, briefly catching itself on the truck before its arm pulls off and it falls to the ground, the back wheel rolling over it with a squishy bump. Ahead, the road narrows somewhat, becoming a bridge over train tracks, and beyond it, the kid sees another bridge that could possible be an exit ramp. 

“Might be a ramp,” the kid says. 

“Stay on this side past the bridge,” Az says. “That’s for sure a ramp. We’ll just be some wrong-way traffic and get out of this shit.”

“I’m making it a ramp either way,” Dave declares. Once the exit comes up, Dave turns, cutting straight through the cloverleaf and down onto a southbound road. 

“This town has a whole lot of fucking lakes,” Az says, looking out the window as they drive away from 30. “Lakes on the left, lakes on the right, probably full of zombie bass fisherman and zombie bass.”

“Why is it that zombie fishermen sound terrifying?” Dave says. 

“The zombie fish sound worse,” the kid says, shaking his head. “What if they flopped up into the street?”

“I think they’d die,” Dave says, not sounding all that certain. “Where should I head now? Try to circle back to 30?”

“Look for a big-looking road going west,” Az suggests. “Or, don’t we have maps?”

“Maps!” the kid exclaims. He opens the glovebox and looks for the maps he’d retrieved from his first gas station ‘test’, dropping some on the floor until he finds one labeled ‘Ohio, Indiana, Illinois’. He unfolds it on the box next to him and Dave continues driving south. “What road are we on? Signs?”

“Looks like... fifteen,” Dave answers. “Should be southbound. That’s what I was trying for, anyway.”

“Okay, okay,” the kid mutters, running his finger along 30 through Indiana. “Okay! Yes, 15 south! Look for Center Street. Go right on Center Street. It looks like it’s just past the lake.”

“Which lake?” Az asks.

“That one,” the kid clarifies, pointing out the passenger side window. 

“Right on Center,” Dave repeats, turning onto it when they reach it.

“Then right again onto...” The kid squints down at the map. “Lincoln Highway. It’ll turn into Old 30, and we should be able to take it all the back to 30 eventually. It runs parallel to 30 up to Plymouth.”

“Looks like it’ll be empty.” Dave turns again and settles the truck into a steady pace, his hands still locked on the wheel. The kid leaves the map open on the box, returning his hand to Dave’s thigh and squeezing gently. 

“We’re all okay,” the kid says quietly. Dave’s eyes barely flick over to the kid’s face before turning back to road, but even in that brief glance, Dave’s eyes look hollow, more tired and more sunken than even an hour before. The kid opens a bottle of gatorade and nudges Dave’s arm with it. Dave takes it with a nod and drinks about half of it at once, then rests the bottle on his leg as he drives. 

The next half hour of driving is easy going. Dave keeps the truck at around forty, forty-five, and while they pass through a few tiny villages, barely bigger than neighborhoods, they don’t encounter anything moving up close. 

“Do you want to try cutting back up to 30?” the kid asks, when they start passing into the larger tiny village of Bourbon. 

“Not yet,” Dave says. “It’s clear. We should keep going while it is.”

The kid nods and they continue along through and past Bourbon, between corn and soybean fields, passing the occasional field full of cows. Even Az is silent, no complaining or talking to himself. The kid digs into his backpack with the hand not resting on Dave’s leg and pulls out suckers, which he distributes around. Az gives him a quick head nod of thanks. 

The kid looks down at the map again. “Okay, if we don’t go north on 31, we’ll go through Plymouth. It’s not huge, but it’s big enough,” he says. He doesn’t have to explain what ‘big enough’ is.

“North on 31. Got it.” Dave nods and briefly looks at the kid to smile before turning back to the road. When they get to 31, Dave takes it north, merging up onto a now thankfully clear 30. 

30 takes them around another curve, right along the northern edge of Plymouth, and the kid feels like they all three hold their breaths as they round that curve. The road remains mostly clear, though, the few abandoned vehicles they pass already pushed to the curb, if not just originally left there. They've almost passed Plymouth entirely when a herd of fast-moving zombies, all dressed in red- and brown-crusted formerly-white scrubs or pajamas, some also in robes, spills into the road behind them.

"Dave? We got incoming," Az says, looking out the back window. "Look like horror movie mental patients, it's the damnedest thing!"

"We're in a horror movie," the kid points out.

Dave accelerates without comment, looking briefly in the rear view mirror before turning back to the road ahead. 

"No, we're in a _zombie_ movie," Az says. "Seriously, what is with you gay white dudes? You don't ever read any kind of film studies shit? You too busy reading your rainbow websites?"

"Aren't zombie movies horror movies?" the kid asks Dave, as they leave the whatever-kind-of-movie mental patients behind.

“No clue,” Dave admits. “I was more of a _Sports Illustrated_ guy.” 

"Comic books and supernatural detective stories," the kid says. "And _Midwestern Living_ because my mom used to bring them home from work."

"No culture," Az says mournfully, shaking his head. "I could teach you two some things about symbolism and genre movies, but we're a little short of movies at the moment. Hey! Dave, we should hit up a Best Buy, get some portable DVD players so me and your Kid here can have something to do while you drive and grunt at us."

“Yeah, next Best Buy I see out between the soybeans,” Dave agrees. 

"Gotta be something out Chicago way," Az counters. "No avoiding the whole Chicago metro area, and where there's metro, there's Best Buy."

"I don't want to watch zombies movies. Or horror movies," the kid says. 

“ _Independence Day_ ,” Dave says. “We’re like the people in that.”

"But no aliens," the kid says. "I'm not sure which is worse, though. The aliens blew up cities, but at least the people didn't turn into them. Aliens, I mean."

"We'll pick up all the seasons of NCIS," Az declares. "Maybe they've got a boxed set."

"That show is _so_ bad," the kid says.

"You hush your mouth, Kid. You speak of Mark Harmon's legacy with respect."

"Which one's Mark Harmon? Is he the old guy?"

"Kid, I am gonna bitchslap you outta this truck and back to Lima!"

“Mark Harmon’s probably dead,” Dave says suddenly. “You’re right, Az. We should get as much as we can. It’s a cultural legacy or something. Even _American Idol_ would be.” 

"Shit. You're right," Az says. He looks almost childishly sad, his eyes getting glossy. "May God have mercy on his beautiful silver fox soul."

Az seems more upset about Mark Harmon than he has about the deaths of any actual people so far, so the kid decides a subject change would be welcome.

"We should eat canned pork," he says. "We have a couple of sauces, too. We can pull over right here and eat it. Those cows are not zombies."

Dave nods, checking all of his mirrors before slowing and pulling onto the shoulder. “Yeah. Can’t hurt. No one around out here.”

"We should sit in the truck bed. It smells weird in here," Az says.

“Yeah, smells like you puked in here,” Dave points out.

"Let's not start pointing fingers at people's apocalypse responses," Az says. "You and your Kid ate goat chow." 

"Horse," the kid says.

"Four-legged hooved farm mammal chow," Az says. "Fucking forgive my lack of accuracy, professor!"

“I’m going to eat some pork and find some water,” Dave announces, climbing out of the truck with his gun. The kid follows him out the driver's door, Az exiting on the passenger side. They look through the boxes for the canned pork, and Az searches for sauce while Dave locates the water, and the kid opens a can of mixed vegetables.

"We could mix it with the pork and sauce to make it taste better," the kid suggests. "We don't want to get those deficiency things where our hair falls out or turns red."

Az gives the kid a pointed look. "Too late for you," he says, then mutters, "tiny damn gingers always up in my business."

"Deficiency red," the kid clarifies. "I think it's either beri-beri or kwashiorkor."

“It’ll make the vegetables taste better, but not the pork,” Dave says, almost jokingly, and he folds down the tailgate and sits on it with several bottles of water next to him. “Time to eat I guess.” 

The kid doles out a third of a can of vegetables on top of each of their cans of pork, and Az offers an assortment of ketchup, Arby's sauce, and mustard packets. The kid puts a mix of all three and the end result is something that almost tastes a little like barbecue. Not a lot like it, but enough to make all the stuff taste like it belongs together. Az shovels in his food, staring back down the highway like he expects the bathrobe zombies to show up any second. Dave eats mechanically, mostly looking at the road, too, and the kid scoots over closer to him, their legs just barely touching. 

“How far we taking it tonight?” Az asks. “Gonna try to make for Chicago?”

Dave shakes his head. “Chicago’s gonna have wrecks. We need to have daylight for sure for that.”

“Kid? You got the map, so where can we stop at?” Az says to the kid.

“Greater Chicago area starts before you even get out of Indiana,” the kid says. “There’s Valparaiso between us and there, but it’s kind of big. I saw some little town before then. Started with a W.”

“Sounds like that might work, then,” Dave says. “We’ll look for a place there.”

They toss their cans onto the side of the road. The kid thinks that’s one good thing, at least, about most of the people now being zombies. If he, Dave, and Az are littering, they’re some of the only people still around to do it. 

Everybody gets back into the truck with a second bottle of water a piece. Dave puts the truck back on 30, still keeping it to a moderate speed, and the kid resettles his hand on Dave’s leg and watches the cornfields roll slowly by. Nobody talks about movies anymore, or anything else. They’ve used up their allotted conversation for the day, it feels like, and now there’s no point in trying to force themselves to talk about anything.

They reach the W-town, Wanatah, just before four. Dave doesn’t even slow down as they pass a few industrial facilities on the east side of town, but he slows through the main part of town, looking around more. 

“We stopping or what?” Az asks. “We’re almost out of town.”

“Up here,” Dave says as they travel another block, and he slows more. “Just two houses, see?”

“They’ve got garages, too. Give us a place to stick the truck,” Az says, nodding his head. “Think they’re empty?”

“If we’re lucky, they were church-goers,” Dave says.

The kid can’t decide if they’ve been lucky or unlucky so far, so he unholsters his gun as Dave pulls into the driveway of the second house, which does have a large detached garage and slightly higher windows than the first house. Dave parks in front of the garage, and Az rolls up the garage door. A quick look around confirms the garage is empty. Az waves at Dave to pull the truck in, and Dave makes a face at Az, seeming dubious. 

“You could back in, leave the garage door open until we check the house?” the kid suggests.

“Okay,” Dave says after a moment’s thought, nodding as he starts the truck again and then backs it into the garage carefully. 

When the truck is off, the three of them approach the house with their guns up. Az knocks on the door loudly, then they all stop and listen. They don’t hear anything inside, but then, they didn’t hear Maude, either, so when Az checks the door and finds it unlocked, they all walk inside, going room to room. The kid makes a point of checking all the closets, the pantry, and making sure there’s no large cabinets a zombie could be hiding in, but in the end, the house is declared zombie-free.

They roll down the garage door after unloading some of their supplies, including some of the food from the Mexican restaurant, and then lock up the house once they’re back inside. The house doesn’t even smell too weird inside; maybe the owners didn’t have much food in their fridge to spoil, or nobody’s opened it since the power went out. 

“Ransack the kitchen?” Az asks with a broad grin. “Betcha five bucks there’s a pack of cookies in there somewhere.”

“You can use that five bucks to buy some cookies,” Dave says, deadpan.

“Yeah, ‘cause of our booming currency-based economy,” Az deadpans right back. “I’ll get right on that.”

“Exactly.”

While Dave and Az are talking, the kid climbs up on the counter and opens the cabinet, finding a bag of chocolate chips, a can of frosting, and two packages of cookies on the top shelf. He tosses one down to Az, the other to Dave, and then hops down off the counter with the chocolate chips and the frosting. The kid opens drawers until he finds a spoon, then he opens the frosting and pours part of the bag of chocolate chips into the frosting can, stirring it all up and then eating a spoonful of it. When he turns around, Dave and Az are staring at him.

“What?” the kid asks.

“That’s a lot of sugar,” Dave finally says. 

The kid shrugs. “So?”

“Gonna make yourself sick,” Az says. “I’m feeling sick just watching you.”

“Don’t watch,” the kid says, wandering into the living room and sitting on the sofa with his can of frosting. 

There’s a clicking sound from the kitchen before Dave speaks. “Oh, yeah. Hot food tonight.” 

“Gas still on?” Az asks.

“Yep.” 

“Four star kinda place, this house,” Az says. “I’m making some enchiladas!”

“Sounds good,” Dave says. 

Az drags some of the food into the kitchen and starts banging around in there, presumably pulling out pots or pans. Dave walks into the living room with a stack of cookies in one hand and sits on the sofa next to the kid, eating them quietly. The kid holds out the can of frosting and his spoon.

“Want to try it?” 

Dave grins a little but shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll stick with cookies.”

“It’s good,” the kid says, but returns the spoon to the can, then sets it down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “I know you’re not okay.”

Dave stuffs a cookie in his mouth and chews it before replying. “No one’s okay.” 

“I’m okay,” the kid says. He works the sandal off his bandaged foot and props his foot up on the coffee table.

“Nope.” Dave shakes his head. “No one is. Just different kinds of not-okay.” 

“I _am_ okay,” the kid insists. “How am I not okay?”

Dave eats another cookie and raises an eyebrow at him as he chews. “For starters, you’re not physically one hundred percent,” Dave says. “But that’s not really what I mean.” 

“I could have hurt my ankle anywhere.”

“Uh-huh. Like I said, not really what we’re talking about, anyway.” 

“Oh yeah?” the kid says, a little more defensively than he meant. “What are we talking about? Because I think I’m doing just fine apart from that.”

“It’s not something horrible,” Dave says, eating another cookie. “Just sayin’, no need to pretend.”

“I’m okay enough to get the job done,” the kid says. “I’m not slowing you down. I’m not causing any problems.”

“No one said you were,” Dave points out. 

“So you won’t have to leave me,” the kid says, raising his voice. “Because I’m useful!”

“No one said you weren’t,” Dave says, sounding mystified. 

“And I like you.”

Dave blinks. “Okay.”

“And I’m worried about you.”

“I’m as not-fine as the next person,” Dave insists. 

“You don’t have to do all the driving. You can let Az drive. You can let me drive. You don’t have to do all of it,” the kid says. 

“No,” Dave says. “It’s fine.”

“It’s a lot of stress. I can see it.”

Dave shakes his head. “No,” he repeats more firmly. 

“I just want to help,” the kid says. “I want to help you. I want to do _something_.”

“You are,” Dave says, looking a little confused. “You’re doing a lot.” 

“Is there more? That I can do?”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Dave says. “That’s good.” 

The kid nods slowly. “I just. I _like_ you.”

Dave nods too, meeting the kid’s eyes as he nods. 

“You two gonna stare at each other all goo-goo eyed all night?” Az says from the doorway into the kitchen. “‘Cause I need to know if you just want beans, or if you want some of this canned chicken I found in your enchiladas?”

“Both,” Dave says. 

“Both,” the kid parrots.

“See now, that’s easy,” Az says. He waves his hand at Dave and the kid. “Feel free to carry on as soon as I’m out of sight.”

The kid rests his hand on Dave’s leg, just above his knee, and Dave puts his hand over the kid’s as they sit. They stay there, not talking, until Az comes back in and announces that his masterpiece enchiladas are ready.

The enchiladas were cooked sort of casserole-style in a big pan, and they smell fantastic. It’s the first cooked food any of them have eaten in close to a week, so they load up their plates and return to the living room, eating in quiet that’s punctuated only by the sound of chewing, forks scraping across plates, and Az’s occasional, “Damn, I’m good.”

They stack the dishes up by the sink. The kid resists the urge to wash them, because everything feels so _normal_ that he almost wishes they could just stay in that house and not get back on the road again in the morning. 

He obviously isn’t the only one who feels that way, either, because Az claps his hands together once, declaring, “And now I’m going to take a shower, ‘cause I feel almost civilized again.”

Dave looks down at his t-shirt and nods once. “Maybe not the worst idea.” 

“I’m good,” the kid says dismissively.

“Gotta take the chance while we can,” Dave says to him. “Az is right. We’ve probably all got scrapes and cuts and shit, too. Need to keep those clean.”

“I don’t think I have any of those,” the kid insists.

“Showers for everyone,” Dave says. The kid tries glaring at Dave, but Dave just raises his eyebrows and gestures towards the bathrooms. “At least we know no Maudes in the linen closet here.”

“Fine,” the kid says. “I’ll go last.”

“Okay.” Dave shrugs. “Az, you want to go first?”

“Already on my way,” Az answers from halfway down the hallway. “You didn’t notice ‘cause you were arguing with your Kid.” Dave just rolls his eyes and gets out three more cookies. The kid picks up his frosting can, and they eat their desserts while they wait for the shower to be free. 

Az comes back out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, wearing a fresh t-shirt and a pair of workout shorts. “Might’ve been cold, but that was fucking awesome. Just a heads up, though, everything in there’s pink-scented.”

“Could be worse,” Dave says, heading down the hall. “Could be licorice or something.”

Az drops onto the sofa in Dave’s seat as Dave goes into the bathroom. “How’s it going, Kid?”

The kid shrugs and continues eating his frosting. “Fine.”

“That’s good to hear,” Az says. The kid looks at him suspiciously. “What, I can’t just make conversation?”

“Sure,” the kid says. “Um. How’s it going with you?”

“I make some damn fine enchiladas,” Az says.

“Yes. They were good.”

“Good, nothing! They were fucking legendary apoca-ladas, Kid.”

The kid nods again, because there’s only so much conversation two people can have about enchiladas. “I’m going to explore,” he announces. “I’m looking in all the drawers.”

“Sounds like fun. You wanna check the master, I’ll paw through the other room?” Az says. “If you find candy this time, you’re gonna share.”

“That’s not likely,” the kid says agreeable. He and Az both walk down the hall, splitting off to each search a bedroom. The master bedroom has men’s and women’s clothes, nothing really useful, and some extra blankets, which the kid drops by the door. He rifles through the night stands, too, but he doesn’t need scented hand lotion or a Holy Bible. 

“Hey, they had a midget living here, too!” Az shouts. “Bet this stuff’s all your size.”

“I’m not a midget! You’re just abnormally large!” the kid shouts back.

“Yeah, that’s what she said!”

Az is right, though. The other bedroom seems to have belonged to a similarly-sized boy, and the kid finds jeans and a t-shirt to put on after his shower. He draws the line at wearing a dead kid’s underwear, though. 

The bathroom room door opens, and Dave steps out, his hair still wet and his face freshly shaved. “All yours, Kid.”

“Oh!” the kid says. He knows he’s staring at Dave, but he can’t not stare.

“Everything okay?” Dave asks. 

“Yes. You just, um.” The kid gestures at Dave’s face. “It’s nice.” He makes himself look away. “Sorry, I’ll go shower now.”

Dave blinks, looking surprised, and steps to the side of the door. “Okay,” he says, sounding almost confused. 

The kid starts the shower, which is icy-cold, but actually feels really good after days and days of sleeping in the same clothes he’d worn for a week. The shampoo, conditioner, and body wash are all very pink, though luckily more fruity-pink than flower-pink, and he ends up giving himself a good scrub from head to bruised foot, washing his hair, too. By the time he comes out, Az is nowhere to be seen, the smaller bedroom door shut, and Dave is back in the living room on the sofa, staring at the windows.

“Hi,” the kid says. 

“Hey,” Dave says, turning towards him. He looks surprised for a brief moment, then shakes his head. “Really is no one on the road.”

The kid limps to the sofa and sits down close to Dave. “Hiding out, maybe? Probably they’re mostly dead or zombies, though.”

“Yeah. I thought maybe there were people behind us, you know?”

“Maybe they stopped, too,” the kid suggests. He doesn’t believe it, but Dave seems to really need there to be other people alive in the world. “Maybe they stay off the bigger roads, like we did for a while.”

“Yeah. Maybe so,” Dave agrees. “Az went to bed. Not the worst idea.” 

“You can sleep in the big bedroom if you want,” the kid offers. “I’m okay on the sofa.”

Dave snorts. “Luckily they didn’t have a twin in the master bedroom. We can both sleep in there. Just didn’t feel like sleeping quite yet,” he admits. 

“You’re tired, though,” the kid points out. 

“Tired and sleepy aren’t always the same.”

“Did you want me to, I don’t know. Talk to you? Or I can go in another room if you want.”

Dave shrugs. “Nah, you don’t have to do that. It feels weirder now, you know? Hot dinner, a shower, and still no lights.” 

“Yeah,” the kid agrees. He puts his hand onto Dave’s leg again, a little higher than right above the knee. “The shower was nicer than I thought it would be, though.”

“Yeah. It was. Maybe we’ll find a place to shower again in a day or two.”

“Yeah.” They sit quietly for a few minutes, then the kid asks, “You want me to get the cherry vodka?”

Dave snorts. “Nah. You might want to wake up without fruit taste in your mouth, you know.”

“It was kind of a weird morning,” the kid says. He looks down at his hand on Dave’s leg. “The night was good, though.”

“Yeah, it was,” Dave agrees, smiling slightly. 

“If you, um. If you wanted to...”

“Wanted to what?” Dave says, his smile getting wider. 

“Try some of that again?” the kid asks, probably blushing a little.

Dave’s smile is a full-fledged grin, and he nods. “Yeah. Not sure we need to _try_ , though.”

“No?”

“I mean, we could just _do_ that, without any trying,” Dave explains.

“Oh. Oh! Okay!” The kid glances up at Dave again. “That would be good.” He slides his hand a little farther up Dave’s legs and looks at Dave’s face. “It’s nice. That you shaved. You look nice.”

“Thanks,” Dave says quietly. He puts his hand over the kid’s and then leans in, kissing him. The kid kisses him back, their mouths closed, just a gentle pressure of their lips against each other’s. Dave puts his other hand on the back of the kid’s neck and slowly parts his lips. The kid shifts on the sofa so his body is facing Dave’s, sliding his hand all the way up Dave’s hip as he lets the tip of his tongue dart out to touch against Dave’s as they kiss. 

Dave’s tongue pushes gently into the kid’s mouth, and he shifts his weight as the hand on the kid’s neck grips a little more firmly. The kid’s other hand comes to rest against Dave’s chest, his palm pressing flat over Dave’s heartbeat. He kisses Dave harder, opening his mouth more, their tongues moving against each other, and underneath the kid’s hand, Dave’s heart beats harder. 

Dave pulls back, his eyes out of focus, and his hand slowly moves down the kid’s back. His eyes come into focus and his head turns slightly, like he’s listening for something. 

“It’s okay,” the kid says softly. “Nothing out there.”

“Can’t help it,” Dave admits. 

“It’s okay,” the kid repeats. He leans up and kisses the side of Dave’s neck, the edge of his jaw. “Everything’s okay right now.”

“Never thought I’d be afraid of the twilight,” Dave says quietly. 

The kids moves his hand across Dave’s chest in slow circles. “Yeah,” the kid agrees, “but everything’s okay right now. I promise. Everything’s okay.”

“There’s a functioning deadbolt, anyway,” Dave says, sounding like he’s trying to be amused. 

“Nothing can get in here without us hearing it,” the kid says. “Come here.” He lets his lips brush against Dave’s. Dave returns the kiss without hesitation, his hand still resting on the kid’s back. The kid puts his arm around Dave’s neck, holding him close, and the hand that’s already high on Dave’s thigh moves to his hip. He leans back against the sofa arm, pulling Dave down with him, so Dave’s body is halfway on top of the kid’s, Dave’s arm bracing most of his weight. Dave opens his mouth again, kissing the kid with slightly more force, and several moments pass before Dave startles again, his entire body shuddering briefly as he pulls back. 

“Sorry,” he says quietly. 

“It’s okay,” the kid says. “Do you want to move back to the bedroom? We’d have two doors that locked, then.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” 

The kid takes Dave’s hand, both of them standing, then he picks up his gun with the other hand and slowly leads them down the hall to the big bedroom. He sets his gun down on the nightstand and then walks back to the door, locking it so Dave can see and hear it being locked. 

“See? Two locks, and we’ll hear anybody or anything that comes near the house,” the kid says. “You can lie down if you want to.”

Dave sits on the bed, smiling slightly. “Yeah. Real bed’s nice, right?”

“Right,” the kid agrees. He crosses over to the bed and kisses Dave gently, then gets Dave’s t-shirt by the hem and starts to pull it up. Dave raises his arms slightly, just enough to remove his t-shirt, then puts them down, one on the kid’s side. The kid kisses Dave again, stepping forward so his legs hit the edge of the bed and he’s standing between Dave’s legs. He puts both hands into Dave’s hair as they kiss, holding Dave’s head steady. 

Dave slides his tongue along the kid’s, his lips parting, and his other hand is on the kid’s shoulder. The kid moves one hand from Dave’s hair, reaching behind his own head to start pulling his own t-shirt off. He breaks away from the kiss just long enough to pull the shirt off and drop it to the floor, then returns to kissing Dave, running his hands over Dave’s shoulders and chest. 

They stay like that for a long while, kissing and running their hands over each other. Dave tenses again, after several moments, but he doesn’t pull away this time. The kid buries his hands in Dave’s hair again, kissing him fiercely for a few moments before moving his mouth to Dave’s jaw, then his throat, then down to his chest. Dave’s hands stay on the kid’s shoulder and side, leaning back very slightly. The kid bends over more to kiss Dave’s stomach, and eventually just sort of slides down onto his knees in front of Dave, both his hands on the waistband of Dave’s jeans.

“Oh. _Oh_ , Oh,” Dave says, the words tripping over each other. The kid undoes the button of Dave’s jeans, kissing him right above the waistband.

“It’s okay,” the kid says. “Okay?”

Dave nods, both hands sliding to the kid’s shoulders. “Okay,” he manages. 

The kid slides Dave’s zipper down, then tugs on the waistband, pulling Dave’s jeans off his hips. Dave lifts off the bed long enough for the kid to tug the jeans down Dave’s legs and off. Dave sits on the bed again, his fingers moving lightly back and forth as his hands stay in place on the kid’s shoulders. The kid slides his hand over the front of Dave’s underwear, palming his cock through the fabric. Dave’s fingers stop moving for a split second, with another short, gasped “Oh,” almost not loud enough to hear. 

“It’s okay,” the kid says again, and Dave nods his head, his fingers moving again. The kid strokes Dave awkwardly through the fabric a few times before curling his fingers around the elastic waistband and tugging down on them. Dave lifts his hips again, letting the kid pull the underwear down and off as well. 

Dave lets out another gasp, his hands still in more or less the same position on the kid’s shoulders. The kid responds by wrapping his hand around Dave’s cock, moving it slowly while looking up at Dave’s face. Dave’s tongue runs along his lower lip, then he smiles at the kid, eyes darting between the kid’s face and the kid’s hand. The kid smiles up at Dave and runs his free hand down Dave’s chest and stomach, still slowly moving the hand around Dave’s cock.

Dave moves one hand to put it over the kid’s free hand, intertwining his fingers with the kid’s. The kid keeps smiling as he leans forward and just barely brushes his lips across the head of Dave’s cock. Dave inhales, still smiling, and his hand squeezes the kid’s hand briefly. The kid flicks his tongue quickly across the same spot his lips had touched, and when Dave seems appreciative, the kid does it again, flattening his tongue this time and sliding across the tip of Dave’s cock.

“Ohh,” Dave says again, his eyes closing, and his hand on the kid’s shoulder tightens somewhat. The kid takes a deep breath and tries to reassure himself that he won’t mess this up terribly, because even a bad blowjob is probably better than no blowjob, and that Dave seems okay with it all so far. He exhales and then puts his lips around the head of Dave’s cock, flicking his tongue across it again, since Dave seemed to like that. Dave’s hips jerk slightly, and his hands squeeze again. 

Feeling more confident, the kid moves his head forward, letting his lips drag a little as Dave’s cock slides into his mouth. He takes it in as far as he can and then moves his hand up near his mouth, so all of Dave’s cock is engulfed in the kid’s mouth and hand. Dave’s hips jerk upward again, just barely, and he lets out another gasp, without any distinguishable words. The kid pulls back, bringing his hand with him, then moves his mouth back down Dave’s cock again, trying to work his tongue along the underside as best he can. 

It’s awkward and messier than the kid had expected it to be, his hand and face damp from his own saliva, but Dave seems to like it, making more little gasps and moving his hips like he’s trying not to move them. The kid holds Dave’s hand tightly while his mouth and other hand keep moving along Dave’s cock, the kid concentrating hard on not doing anything like gagging or letting his teeth scrape or any of those other things that he’s not supposed to do.

Dave’s hips jerk up again, and his “oh!” is more pronounced and louder than before. The kid realizes that Dave is starting to come, and he pulls back enough to not choke, still moving his hand and tongue and lips. Dave’s hand squeezes the kid’s fingers, and his final “oh” drags out over several seconds. The kid swallows, also a little awkwardly, as he sits back on his heels, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and looking up at Dave.

“Okay?” the kid asks.

Dave startles and then chuckles for just a few seconds. “Very okay.”

The kid grins and ducks his head. “Haven’t ever done that before,” he confesses.

“Me either,” Dave says with a little shrug.

“Are you sleepy now?” the kid asks. “It’s starting to get a little dark out, and you should sleep while you can.”

“Yeah,” Dave admits. “I am.”

The kid stands up and leans forward, giving Dave a soft kiss. “Pick whichever side you want,” he says, nodding his head up towards the pillows. Dave nods and lies down, head on the pillow closest to the window. The kid goes ahead and takes his own jeans off, lying down next to Dave and rolling onto his side to look at him. Dave’s eyes close completely, then he startles again, his eyes half-open. 

“Hey,” the kid says. He sits up, propping the pillow against the wall so he can lean against it, then he puts his hand on Dave’s shoulder, prompting him to roll so his head is resting on the kid’s leg. Dave moves his head over, eyes starting to close again. The kid cards his fingers through Dave’s hair. “I’m not really sleepy yet, so I thought I might stay awake for a while and listen. I’ve got my gun right here.”

“Okay.” Dave’s eyes close fully, and he doesn’t startle back awake. The room gets darker and darker, and Dave’s body curls towards the kid’s as he relaxes into sleep. The kid stays awake, still running his fingers through Dave’s hair and watching him sleep until the sky outside the window starts to lighten, and only then does he doze off.


	7. Chapter 7

Az sleeps so hard that when he wakes up, the first thing he thinks about _isn’t_ zombies or any such shit, but how much he needs to take a piss and how he’d really like some pancakes for breakfast. He tumbles out of bed and tries to stumble into his bathroom, but the door he opens just leads into a closet, which reminds him that, yeah, it’s still a fucking zombie apocalypse out there, even if he went to bed with belly full of enchiladas. 

“At least I didn’t piss in the fucking closet,” Az says aloud to nobody, since he’s alone in the room and has no idea where Dave and his Kid even ended up last night. Probably together, wherever it is, and ain’t that just Az’s luck, being a third damn wheel in a world with only three people in it. 

He pops the door open and peeks out, relieved to see the morning isn’t going to involve any guns in his face, as far as he can tell. The big bedroom’s door is shut and the bathroom’s empty, so Az has a nice, long piss before going into the kitchen and cooking himself a big pot of oatmeal with a fuckton of brown sugar in it. He’s sitting on the couch, eating his oatmeal and reading through the last-ever issue of _TV Guide_ when the other bedroom door opens and the Kid comes poking down the hall, sniffing the air like a scrawny puppy.

“What smells?” the Kid asks.

“My breakfast,” Az says.

“What is it?”

“Mine,” Az says.

“Oh. Okay,” the Kid says, his face drooping all pitifully as he shrugs one shoulder in the most non-committal, half-assed shrug Az has ever seen. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, there’s a pot on the stove. Leave some for Dave or don’t, but if he wakes up cranky, it’s your skinny white ass that’s dealing with him,” Az says. He turns back to his oatmeal, grumbling to himself. “Like I’m everybody’s fucking mama, gonna be wiping everybody’s little tushies for ‘em next, thankless fucking job.”

The Kid wanders back in after a few minutes, bowl in his hands. “This is really good.”

“I’m an excellent cook,” Az says. 

“It’s very sweet.”

“Brown sugar. Brings out the flavor of the—no. We are not doing this. We are not bonding,” Az insists. 

“Okay,” the Kid says, with another one of those half-assed shrugs. 

“Good. As long as we understand each other.”

They both eat their oatmeal in silence for a while, before the Kid sits down in the chair near the sofa, oatmeal balancing on his knee. “I don’t think Dave’s okay.”

“Shit, son, it’s the goddamn end of the world. Ain’t one of us okay,” Az scoffs.

“No. He’s not not-okay like you and me. He’s not-okay like somebody who’s _really_ not-okay,” the Kid says.

“Yeah,” Az says. He doesn’t want to give the Kid that much, but he can’t deny it. “Not sure what to do about it, though.”

“Me either,” the Kid admits. 

The bedroom opens down the hall again, and a few moments pass before Dave comes shuffling down the hall. “Hey,” he says to Az and the Kid, then must follow his nose into the kitchen. “I like brown sugar.” 

“Don’t I know it. That’s why you’ve been friends with my sweet, sweet ass all these years,” Az says. 

“I like it, too,” the Kid says. “Brown sugar. Not your sweet, sweet ass.”

Az snorts. “You’d like it if you tried it, but it’s not on the table, so too bad for you.”

The Kid shrugs and continues eating the last bits of his oatmeal, looking up when Dave walks into the living room and following Dave with his eyes. Dave sits on the sofa and eats a few bites of his oatmeal, not really looking at either of them, before stopping and staring out the window. “I wonder what time it is.” 

“Eat your oatmeal time,” the Kid says. 

“I don’t think that’s on the clock,” Dave protests. “It’s not that bright out, yet.”

“Real time isn’t on clocks anymore,” the Kid says, shrugging. “Wake up time. Eating time. Driving time. Sleeping time. Other... things time.” 

“My keen senses are telling me it’s about nine,” Az says. “That and there’s a watch back in that bedroom, and it said it was eightish about an hour ago.”

“Oatmeal time,” the Kid says, pointing at Dave’s bowl with his spoon.

“We should take the watch with us,” Dave insists, looking at the Kid. 

“Az can keep the watch,” the Kid says. 

“It’s a pretty nice watch,” Az says, watching the interaction between Dave and the Kid. “I can be the watch guy. Gives me something to do, since apparently your Kid here’s our sharp-shooter and you’re our getaway driver.”

Dave chuckles. “We could rob banks.” 

“Would be much of a challenge, though, unless the tellers are zombies now,” Az points out. 

“Nothing to buy, either,” Dave admits. 

“Maybe they still got some kind of economy out west,” Az offers.

“No,” the Kid says flatly. “They don’t.”

“We could get black hats, anyway,” Dave says, still chuckling a little. “Where’re we heading next?” 

“Chicago’s between us and Nebraska, unless we swing way south,” Az says. “Kid? You got any suggestions?”

“I don’t think 30 goes right through Chicago, but close enough,” the Kid admits. “Probably going to be a little, um. Less than great.”

“We might find some more guns or something, though,” Dave points out. “More food. This road’s almost sparse.”

“Sparse is good,” the Kid says.

“More guns is good, too,” Az counters.

“Fewer zombies, less need for guns,” the Kid argues.

“Better to have ‘em in case we need ‘em,” Az says, shaking his head. “Where’d your balls go, Kid? Thought you had a big ol’ pair.”

“I don’t even miss television right now,” Dave says almost cheerfully. “But I say we stick to the more straight route through on US-30.” 

“Wish we could stick around here a few days,” Az says.

Dave frowns. “Yeah. But what if it gets worse, and then we’re not sticking around, we’re stuck?” he points out. 

“Awfully fucking nice to have a hot meal, though,” Az says. “Hell, I could even boil some water and have a hot bath.”

“But I don’t think it’ll last. We just got a reprieve for a little while.” Dave scrapes the last of the oatmeal from his bowl and sets the bowl on the floor. 

“It is nice to have hot food,” the Kid says, “but Dave’s right. We need to keep moving. I don’t want to get stuck here. I’m not dying in Indiana.”

“Nobody said anything about dying,” Az says.

“Stuck’s the same as dead,” the Kid says. “That’s just how it is now.”

“I don’t want to be stuck in Indiana,” Dave admits. 

“We should see if there’s anything else we can use and take it, then we should go,” the Kid says. “We should—” He interrupts himself with a huge yawn.

“Your mouth is kinda huge. Can you fit your fist in there?” Az asks. Dave turns bright red and snorts. “Ohhh. I see how it is. Can you fit _Dave’s_ fist in there?”

“I can’t fit anybody’s fist in my mouth,” the Kid grumbles. “I’m going to sort through some things in the bedroom.” He stands up, leaving his bowl behind, and storms off to the big bedroom. 

“He’s in a mood,” Az says.

Dave snorts again. “You’d be one to know about moods.” 

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just sayin’,” Dave says, standing up and looking through the small selection of DVDs in the house. “Did you check for a DS or anything yet?”

“Didn’t see one in the back room, but I guess I can go check again. I think there’s clothes in there that’ll fit your Kid, though, itty bitty thing that he is,” Az says. “I was serious about the fist thing, though. Pretty sure he could fit his whole—”

“Oh, look!” Dave says, glaring at Az, which doesn’t go with his facial expression. “We can make sure that _Spaceballs_ lives on.” 

“You just grab all the balls you need,” Az says. “Lots of ball-grabbing going on, I’m sure.” He stands and starts wandering towards the bedrooms, leaving Dave to look through the DVDs. He pokes his head into the front bedroom, where the Kid has made a small pile of clothes on the bed. “Hey, Kid, you go on into that back bedroom and pick you out some more clothes.”

“My clothes are fine,” the Kid snaps.

“Yeah, and filthy,” Az says. “What bug crawled up your ass and died?”

“Nothing. No bug. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, you’re being extra not-okay,” Az points out. “You cranky? Need a nap.”

“Just... we should get on the road soon,” the Kid says. “I think it’s not good to stay here.”

“Okay, okay. Go check the back room, I’ll finish up in here, and we’ll vamoose. No reason to get your panties twisted over it.”

“I don’t _wear_ panties,” the Kid says, stomping across the hall to the other bedroom.

“High strung bunch of pretty princesses this morning,” Az mutters to himself, pulling a few sweatshirts out of a drawer that look like they might fit him or Dave, then taking some socks. After about fifteen or twenty minutes, all three of them reconvene in the living room. 

“We should go,” the Kid says. He has a bundle of something wrapped up in a blanket, plus his backpack thrown over his shoulder. 

“Blankets. That’s a good idea,” Az says. 

“Doesn’t seem like something we need yet,” Dave says. “Guess we will, though.” 

“If we have to sleep in the truck again, it would be more comfortable, at least,” the Kid says.

“It’s just weird to think about it getting cold, is all.” Dave shrugs. “Not when it’s still so hot.”

“Yeah, well, take ‘em so Kid has something to hide under in the truck bed,” Az suggests. “Stealthy little fucker.”

“Did save our asses,” Dave points out, picking up a box of supplies from the kitchen. “Anyway, let’s go.”

Az nods, the Kid draws his gun, and they both follow Dave out the door, making the short walk to the garage. Az opens the door into the garage, and the Kid quickly clears the building of absolutely no zombies or people at all, but at least all of them can relax a little as they put the supplies into the bins. The Kid shoves his blanket into the back seat, setting his backpack on the front seat.

“Guess I’ll get the door,” Az says, walking up to open the garage door. The road is as empty today as it was the day before, no cars, no people, and luckily no zombies. He climbs into the backseat, and Dave turns back onto the desolate highway, headed west towards Chicago and whatever Chicago has to offer them.

The drive is pretty damn silent, gloomy almost, with Dave staring straight ahead and the Kid perched in the seat next to Dave, looking worse for wear with each passing mile. Az wishes he’d thought to grab one of those books from the Walmart out of the bins, or that he’d snagged a magazine or something from the house, because the drive to and through the next little town is downright dour. Even though they pass a little airport and what looks like a college, they really don’t see too many zombies, at least not near the road. Az sees some clusters off in the distance, but they don’t pay the truck any attention.

“Did you sleep?” Dave says, the sound too loud in the quiet truck. He looks briefly at the Kid. “You don’t seem like you slept.”

“I’m fine,” the Kid says. Az thinks it sounds like a crock of bullshit, since the Kid started nodding off about a half-mile back, but it’s not his argument and he’s not jumping into it.

“Okay,” Dave agrees, nodding. “But I didn’t ask if you were fine. Did you sleep?”

“I slept enough,” the Kid answers.

“Still not an answer,” Dave notes, but he doesn’t press it any more. 

By the time they hit the next little town, the Kid’s head is nodding again, and even though he keeps snapping his head back up, once they pass through whatever town it is and into a more residential area, the Kid’s chin is resting on his chest. Az leans up to looks at him.

“Kid’s off,” Az says.

“Let him sleep,” Dave says, shrugging one shoulder. “No trouble through here.” 

“Lotta houses on either side. Might not be the worst thing to have our little gunslinger awake.”

Dave shakes his head. “We’ve got gas, you’re awake, let him sleep.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t bother your sleeping beauty,” Az concedes. He does double-check the rifle to make sure it’s loaded. 

“It’s good you realize I’m a prince,” Dave says blandly. “Does that make the zombies the evil whatever?”

“You’re his prince? Now, that is so damn sweet,” Az says. “Look at you, finding love in the middle of the apocalypse. Can’t say as I understand your taste, but hey, he’s a good shot, and that’s probably a highly desirable skill.”

“You said it, not me,” Dave retorts. “Maybe if I ever become king, I’ll let you be a prince, too.”

“That means a lot, Dave. Really.”

“I’m a stand-up guy,” Dave says. “I’m not an _evil_ prince.” 

“Of course not,” Az agrees. 

The road starts to get a little more full, not blocked but not the smooth sailing they’d had after Wanatah. 30 eastbound is pretty clogged, though, and after another few miles, a group of motorcycles going east in the westbound lane passes the truck. The rear motorcyclist waves as they pass. 

“Glad I’m not them. Gimme a roof over my head,” Az mutters. Dave nods his agreement. 

Once they cross the state line into Illinois, things get hairier. The road takes a sharp northward turn, and Az sees a small group of zombies in the road ahead, swarming around a car. 

“You think there’s people in there?” Az asks. 

“Not anymore,” Dave says kind of sadly. “No way we could kill all of those safely, and if they could have, you’d think they would have.”

“Well, shit,” Az says, and there’s nothing more to say about that. They pass over a set of railroad tracks not far after, jostling the truck, and the Kid’s head pops up again.

“Are we okay?” the Kid asks, a little frantic-sounding.

“Unless you had wanted to detour on the trains,” Dave says calmly. 

“Everybody’s okay?”

“Az farted.” 

“I did not,” Az counters. “Don’t tell the Kid lies about me.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” the Kid says. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t say _when_ you farted,” Dave says, smiling serenely. “And we let you sleep. Everything’s calm.”

“Okay,” the Kid says, but he doesn’t close his eyes again, and Az can see him moving his arm in that way that Az has started to associate with drawing a gun. 

The passing landscape is a mix of trailer parks, farmland, run-down businesses, and some slapped up neighborhoods, until they reach the edge of Chicago Heights. The highway narrows as it goes back into residential area, then into more full-blown town. Az looks out to his left at the large hospital right up against the road. 

“Dave,” Az says calmly. “I don’t want to alarm you, but I think you should consider driving really fucking fast. Right now.”

“Got it,” Dave says, pressing down on the accelerator and increasing his speed considerably. “I’m going to let the two of you tell me if I need to turn.”

“Faster,” Az says, as a mass of zombies comes boiling out into the road, most of them running at full speed behind the truck. The Kid brings his gun up, Az takes the safety off the rifle, and Dave accelerates without comment. 

“Right hand turn!” the Kid calls out, as more zombies pour into the road ahead of them. 

Dave turns, the tires squealing, and continues north at the same speed. 

“Left!” the Kid says. “Az, look down the next lefthand turn and see if it’s clear.”

“Gotcha,” Az says, as Dave takes a sharp left. Az looks down the first left turn they pass, noting the zombie herd at the far end. “Not this one. Keep going.” Dave nods, both hands on the steering wheel.

“Just go right again here,” the Kid says. He sets down his gun and pulls out one of the map books, flipping pages furiously. “Western. Look for Western and turn left. We can go through the parking lots if we have to, but that’ll get us on 30.”

“Okay,” Dave agrees, and he turns left again after a few more blocks. The road ahead looks clear enough now, and Dave turns right back onto 30. Az sees the zombie herd in the street farther back on 30, but nothing ahead of them.

“Nice navigating, Kid,” Az says. “Aw, shit. A McDonald’s? Man, I want a Big Mac so bad.”

“We could steal some creamer,” Dave suggests.

“As appealing as that sounds, I’ll pass,” Az says.

The Kid doesn’t say anything at all, but he does leave the map out, his gun on top of it, and sort of leans against Dave. After a minute or two, Az realizes the Kid might actually be _snuggling_ against Dave, and if that’s not too much for this world after everything else, Az doesn’t know what is. Snuggling in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. Dave keeps both his hands on the wheel, but doesn’t seemed too bothered by the snuggling, otherwise. Az just snorts quietly and shakes his head, leaning back in his seat.

Dave looks over at the Kid for a few moments, an expression on his face that Az doesn’t recognize, and then he looks back at the road, his face sliding into a frown as he does. Az doesn't see anything specific to frown about, but since their general situation is probably frown-worthy enough, he lets it slide without comment.

After Chicago Heights, it gets a little weird, in how it's so fucking empty. The roads are even clear, which feels more ominous than promising, in Az's opinion. Doesn't interrupt the Kid's cuddlefest with Dave, though, which maybe isn't the worst thing, other than from the perspective of Az now having way too much time on his hands to think about other people's relationships, and just enough information to start filling in details he wouldn't want about anybody, his big gay bestie not excluded.

"Maybe we oughta try the radio," Az suggests. "May be some kinda signal out Chicago way."

Dave shrugs. “Probably just the emergency broadcast, but sure, we can try it.” He reaches for the radio, turning it on and then trying to tune it. At first, it's nothing but static, then they hear the unaccented voice of the emergency broadcast lady. She urges them to stay home and lock their doors; fat lot of good that would've done anybody.

"Turn it off," the Kid says. "Please just turn it off." He wallows against Dave's arm, smooshing his face into it.

Dave turns the radio back off, shrugging. “That wasn’t anything new,” he remarks. 

"Thought it might be worth the try at least," Az says. 

"Don't turn it back on," the Kid says, sounding a little less like his dead-shot self. "Don't."

“Think I’ll skip a CD for now,” Dave says, both hands firmly back on the steering wheel. The Kid nods without taking his face off Dave's arm, and Az doesn't even bother weighing in, since that was an announcement, not a poll.

After a bit, Az remembers they should probably be drinking water, so he doles out some bottles. The Kid looks a little upset about it, but Az chalks that up to being aggravated with himself for not remembering to be the water nag, more than being put out about having to drink. After they slurp down their water, the Kid hands out some candy from his magical backpack of holding.

"How far we shooting for today?" Az asks.

“Someplace west of Chicago, if we can,” Dave says, sounding slightly uncertain. “We don’t want to sleep near a population center.”

"How many zombies you think Chicago's got?" Az wonders aloud. "A million? Couple hundred thousand?"

"Enough," the Kid says.

“Two is too many,” Dave says, shrugging. “But yeah, a lot.” 

“Probably nobody made it out alive, then,” Az says. “Now, that’s a thought.” He shakes his head in wonder at the bullshit reality that there’s probably more living former residents of Lima in the world than former residents of places like Chicago or Cincinnati, and how fucked up it is that _they_ now comprise a majority of the Midwestern population. 

They’re coming up on Joliet when the Kid suddenly says, “Smoke.” 

“I guess we’ve been lucky before now,” Dave says, sounding almost resigned. 

Az leans on the back of the Kid’s seat to look out the windshield. “Maybe north of Joliet?” he says. “Looks like it’s all on that side. Might not come all the way down to 30.”

“I’ll look up alternate routes,” the Kid says. “We’ll need to get new maps soon, though.”

“We could sleep at a gas station,” Dave suggests. “Food and maps in one stop.”

“Let’s just see how bad it gets,” Az says, which pretty much ends the conversation. 

Even without the smoke, Joliet would’ve been bad. 30 narrows down to about one passable lane’s worth, and the side streets are clogged with cars. The cars do at least provide a partial barricade from the zombies wandering up and down the blocks. One ten block section, give or take, has burnt down to black husks, some larger buildings on the edges still smoldering. Out in the distance, past a train that’s burned to nothing but the metal wheels, Az can see a large white concrete structure.

“What’s that down there?” Az asks. “Nothing burnt to the left of that.”

The kid runs his finger along the map and frowns. “Prison.”

“I’ll just keep driving,” Dave says, sounding both resigned and almost amused. 

After another few blocks, they reach a bridge over a river. Half the bridge is blocked by a multi-car pileup, leaving the metal grating over the bridge’s surface fucked up and twisted up in spots. The bridge doesn’t look exactly structurally sound, but they’ve gotta get across the river somehow. 

“Can we just haul ass across that thing?” Az asks. 

“No, we should drive slowly and carefully,” the Kid counters.

“I think we’ve gotta carefully haul ass,” Dave says after a moment. “Too slow and we leave too much weight on any point of the bridge for too long.” 

“Yeah, this is gonna suck royally,” Az declares. 

Dave snorts. “Yeah, ‘cause nothing else has sucked,” he says, driving onto the bridge slower than Az would like. The metal grating tips slightly and creaks under the truck, and Az realizes he’s pretty much white-knuckling the back of the Kid’s seat, leaning forward to watch. When they’re almost at the far end of the bridge and Az is just about ready to breathe a sigh of relief, a zombie almost falls out from behind the back end of a crashed car, directly in front of the truck.

Dave doesn’t slow down or speed up, just keeps driving forward, barely even flinching at the zombie’s sudden appearance. The Kid cocks his pistol, but no more zombies fall out of nowhere before the truck hits solid ground on the other side of the bridge. Joliet west of the river has something that Dave and Az, and probably the Kid, haven’t seen since they left Lima, which is fresh bodies, or what’s left of bodies, anyway.

“These one’s not rising?” Az asks. “Or did they make it over a week and then get themselves eaten?”

“Latter, I bet,” Dave says. “Maybe they thought it was better, and found out it wasn’t.” 

The Kid makes a snorty, squeaky sound, which it takes Az a few beats to realize is the sound of the Kid choking back laughter. 

“Oh, this is funny to you?” Az asks.

“It _doesn’t_ get better,” the Kid manages to squeak out, the breaks into a full on case of the giggles. 

“I don’t know,” Dave says slowly. “Think maybe it did, in a way.”

“I don’t think they meant with zombies,” the Kid says, taking a deep breath like he’s trying to get himself under control again. “But maybe. Maybe it did.”

“You two are insane, you know that?” Az asks.

“You’re riding with us,” Dave says almost cheerfully.

“And if I see a good opportunity to disembark from the crazy train, I just might take it,” Az says.

“Yes, there are so many other options,” Dave says, deadpan. 

“Maybe I’ll find a sports car and go solo,” Az grumbles. “Or I’ll get one of those camper vans.”

Dave starts laughing quietly, nodding a little as he steers through the streets. Zombies wander in between the buildings and in and out of the street, most of them with a possum-like lack of urgency. Four of them are knelt around a body in the middle of an intersection, chewing away; Dave swings wide to avoid them, but only one of them even lifts its head to look at the truck. 

“I think some of those buildings have live people,” the Kid says, gesturing up at a building on the right. 

“Probably don’t have weapons, or they wouldn’t be there,” Dave guesses. 

“Probably where the bodies came from. Ran out of food and got desperate, or else went stir crazy and tried to run for it,” Az says. 

“No plan. Probably no can opener, either,” the Kid says.

“Hey, we would've gotten one eventually,” Az says. “Not like you got the only can opener left in creation, Kid.”

“Knife sharpener,” Dave says suddenly. “The electric can openers sometimes advertised they had a knife sharpener.” 

“Electric can openers aren’t good for shit without electricity,” Az points out. 

“But maybe we should look for a knife sharpener that’s not electric,” Dave says. “It’d suck to end up with a bunch of dull knives.”

“Fish and game store,” the Kid says. “Or a gun store. Probably people didn’t think to take the knife sharpeners when they took the guns.”

“I almost wish I’d learned to fish before all this.” Dave pauses. “Almost.”

“I don’t even like fish,” Az says.

“I’m pretty sure the fish I do like live in the ocean,” Dave admits. 

“Maybe we could steal us a yacht,” Az says. “Nice big yacht, sail out to, I dunno. Someplace remote, like maybe with some Samoan hotties or something.”

“Kid?” Dave says, sounding like he’s humoring someone. “Do _you_ know how to read nautical charts?”

“No. I don’t think I can learn, either.”

“Yeah, same,” Dave says. He shakes his head. “Sorry, Az. No Samoan hotties in your future.”

“Maybe we’ll meet one on land,” the Kid offers. “A landlocked Samoan hottie.”

“Crazy train,” Az mutters.

“Seems to be thinning out again,” Dave remarks. 

“We should push on through,” Az says. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“University up here. No zombie co-eds for you, Az?” Dave asks. 

“What _are_ co-eds?” the Kid asks. 

“They called girls that in the ‘60s for reasons I don’t understand,” Dave says. 

“Oh. That’s weird.”

“Weird and kinda a non-issue, seeing as how there’s really not any colleges anymore,” Az says. 

“Or any co-eds, ‘cause they’re all zombies now,” Dave points out. 

“Guess I’ll just have to hope my cousins have a hot friend or two staying with ‘em,” Az sighs. “Otherwise it’s gonna be a long, lonely apocalypse.”

“It’s the apocalypse,” Dave says blandly. “Hot second cousins might be okay.”

“I read an article in a magazine that said that when cousins have babies together, the babies aren’t more likely to have mutations,” the Kid says. “It might have been in _Midwestern Living_.” He pauses for a second, then adds, “But probably it wasn’t.”

“You two are sick. You are just plain sick,” Az says. 

Dave shrugs. “Just trying to help.” 

“Some kind of help’s the kind of help we all can do without,” Az snaps. 

“Do you think CVS has maps?” the Kid asks suddenly.

“Yeah, I think they do.” Dave slows the truck. “Probably has some other good stuff, if it hasn’t been looted too much already.”

“Glass doesn’t look broken, which is promising,” Az says. “Fine, we’ll make a pit stop.”

Dave pulls into the lot and parks, picking up his gun slowly and looking around. Az waits for Dave to grab the ax like usual, but for once, he doesn’t seem to think about it. Since they have to figure out how to get into the store somehow, Az gets the ax, and the three of them walk to the storefront like little well-armed ducks in a row.

Dave tries the door twice, then shrugs and steps back. Az wedges the ax blade between the door and the frame, pushing down on it until the lock pops, then forcing the door to slide open. He stands by the door with the ax outstretched. 

“After you,” Az says.

“Such a gentleman,” Dave says, stepping carefully into the CVS with gun in front of him. The Kid follows Dave, and Az brings up the rear. Once they’re inside, they fan out, the Kid and Dave on either side, and Az heading right down the center aisle. There’s no noise inside, and the shelves don’t look like they’ve been ransacked. A few are empty, but there’s still plenty of supplies in there. 

Az looks at some of the packages on a shelf of baby wipes, moving them around and looking for one that says ‘unscented’, because as much as it would’ve been nice to have something to wipe the blood off his face yesterday morning after Dave’s Kid shot those guys, smelling like a baby’s ass isn’t one of Az’s major apocalypse goals. Unscented, hypoallergenic wipes in hand, Az continues down the aisle. 

He’s just rounded the end cap, leaning over to look at a display of sunglasses, when he hears a little voice pipe up, “Mama! Zombie!”

Something big and heavy hits Az in the back of the head, and he crumples to the floor.


	8. Chapter 8

**Day 9**

The Kid hears the voice, a little bitty kid-voice, and then he hears a loud thwack and a solid thump of a large body hitting the ground somewhere towards the back of the store. He doesn’t call out, not even for Dave, but he double-checks his gun to make sure the safety’s off, pulls back the slide, and carefully, quietly, walks down the far right aisle to the back. 

When he gets to the end, he peeks around the endcap. One large, dark shape is curled up on the floor, and a smaller dark shape stands over it. The only thing Kid knows for sure is that the standing shape isn’t Dave or Az, which means the big shape is probably Az, which also means the smaller shape needs shot, and fast. Before the Kid can fire, though, Dave comes around the endcap on the far left.

“We’re alive,” Dave says. “You’re alive. All of us—we aren’t zombies.” 

“Drop your gun, tubby!” the smaller shape—a girl apparently—yells. “Drop it now!”

“But—” Dave starts to protest, then sets the gun on the shelf next to him.

“Now take off your clothes,” the girl says. “I want to make sure you aren’t bit.”

“Both of us?” Dave asks. 

“Both of—is there another one of you in here?” the girl asks. She shifts slightly, and the Kid can make out some of her facial features in the dim light as she peers down the back of the store in his directly. “Little guy with the gun, you just put that right down on the ground.”

“No,” the Kid calls back. “We’ll just get our friend and go.”

“The bleep you will,” the girl says. “Put down the gun, or I’m gonna paint the floor with your buddy’s brains.” She hefts whatever large object she’s holding in her hands, waggling it menacingly. As she turns back towards Dave, the kid notices an even smaller shape on her back, another head, a tiny head, staring back at the Kid.

“Do we have to get undressed, ma’am?” Dave asks, making a face. 

“Both of you, tubby and the shrimp, skin out them clothes right now and stand where I can see you.”

“Zombies, mama,” chirps the tiny head on the girl’s back. “Kill ‘em dead!”

“No, baby, they’re not zombies. Not yet anyway,” the girl says. “We’ve just got to check for bites before we let them leave.”

“I guess she just wants to keep her little one safe,” Dave says to the Kid. 

“Leave your shorts on. I’m not interested,” the girl says. “Quicker you strip, quicker I decide you aren’t about to turn, quicker you get to leave by the same door you came in.”

“What the _fuck_?” comes Az’s groan from the floor. 

“Language!” barks the girl. “But if you’re awake, you can do it, too. Clothes off, let me see your arms and legs quick, useless.”

“She’s not a zombie,” Dave says to Az. 

“She hit in me in the fucking _head_.”

“Watch your mouth, or I’ll do it again,” the girl says.

“We’re just passing through,” Dave says to the girl. 

“You got a car?” she asks.

Dave shakes his head slowly. “No.”

“You come in from Chicago? Can’t be local, everybody local’s a zombie.” She shifts the large object again. The Kid can’t quite tell if it’s a bat or a shovel or something else.

“East of here,” Dave says. 

“How far east?”

“You planning on sweet-talking her all day?” Az says. “‘Cause my head fu—freaking hurts.”

“Shut up, useless,” the girl says, nudging him with her foot. “I said, how far east?”

“Fort Wayne,” Dave answers. “We’ll just be out of your way,” he adds, one hand reaching for his gun. 

The girl hefts the heavy object, and the Kid aims his gun, not sure if he can actually make himself shoot somebody with a baby or toddler or whatever it is on her back. 

“No way a pair of tubbies like you and useless walked from Fort Wayne,” the girl says. “You got, what? Motorcycles? Horses? Got to be something.”

“We’ve got a truck,” Az croaks. “Don’t bash me in the head no more, woman. I just wanted a pack of goddamn baby wipes.”

“See? We’ll be on our way,” Dave promises. 

“You got a back row?” the girl asks.

“Mama, we goin’ in a truck?” the little kid on her back asks. “Firetruck?”

“There’s no firetruck,” Dave says quickly. 

“Does your truck have a back row,” the girl repeats, enunciating each row carefully. “As in a second row behind the front row. As in more than three seats?”

“If I say yes, will you not hit me with the stick again?” Az asks.

“Well, tubby?”

“There’s more than three seats,” Dave admits. 

“Take us with you,” the girl says. “We walked from Chicago, but it’s too bad out there for a little kid. Take us with you and I won’t beat your buddy’s brains in.”

“Hey now!” Az says, putting his arms over his head. “That’s not necessary!”

“Dave, she doesn’t even have a _gun_ ,” the Kid says. He brings his gun up again. “If you try to hit him again, I’ll shoot you!”

“Lady, I promise you, he ain’t fucking around, and _sorry, Jesus Christ, it’s the fucking apocalypse_ , I’ll fucking swear if I want to,” Az says, pushing himself up to sitting and scooting himself back along the floor. 

“What kind of supplies do you have?” Dave asks. 

“Got a whole pharmacy,” the girl says. “Plus, Jaydon here’s sneakier than you are.”

“Hi!” the little kid, Jaydon, says. “We goin’ in the truck!”

Dave looks at the Kid and grins. “Can opener?”

“Do I have one or do I know how to work one? No, and yes, but I’ve got antibiotics and the ability to run a mile without dying from a heart attack, so pick your poison,” the girl says. “You want to show me you’re bite free so I can let your friend up?”

“I’m not taking off my clothes, but I’ll show you my arms and legs,” the Kid concedes, holstering his gun, because in the end, he probably couldn’t really make himself shoot a little kid, at least one that isn’t turned into a zombie yet. The mom, sure, but not the kid.

“If you’re willing to get in the truck with us, I think you know we’re bite-free,” Dave points out, but he holds up his arms and turns them so she can see both sides. 

“Yeah, I know how fast they turn,” the girl concedes, lowering the stick-thing. “Figured you’d either strip or I’d stall you long enough that you’d turn.” She takes a step back from Az. “Alright, useless. You may as well stand up, if I didn’t addle your brains too much.”

Dave picks his gun back up, though he doesn’t aim it anywhere. “Let’s get supplies and get going, then,” Dave says. 

Az stands up, looking a little unsteady as he rubs his head. “You got a name, or should I call you Xena or something? Amazon princess?”

“Wonder Woman?” Dave suggests. 

“Jade,” the girl says. “Let’s go back into the pharmacy. There’s a skylight back there, so it’s easier to see. It’s where we’ve been staying.”

Dave shrugs and turns towards the pharmacy area. “Okay.”

"Any of you try anything, and I'll brain you," Jade warns. 

"Mama gonna go _bam_!" Jaydon declares from his position on Jade's back. As they follow Jade into the pharmacy area, the Kid can see that Jaydon is held on Jade's back by some kind of large fabric square with four long ties coming off of it. Jaydon waves at the Kid, then at Dave, and finally at Az.

"Cute kid," Az grumbles.

"He is," Jade agrees. "Can't really use a weapon yet, but he's a good lookout."

“There been a lot of zombies through here?” Dave asks Jade. 

"Joliet? Yeah. CVS, no," Jade says, lifting the countertop door that leads into the back part of the pharmacy. "They haven't been too interested in this place, but we keep quiet."

“So we might get out of town without too many more? That’d be good,” Dave says. 

"Depends on how you define too many," Jade says. "Now, I pulled all the antibiotics and the pain pills over here. If nothing else, thought I could barter the narcs."

"Start by bartering me one for my head," Az says. 

"Do you even have a gun?" the Kid asks.

"No, but I made it from Chicago on foot with no gun in the same amount of time it took you to drive from Fort Wayne with all your guns," Jade retorts. "I'd bet on myself against the three of you, shrimp."

The Kid glares at Jade, but Az just starts laughing. "Shrimp," he says, shaking his head. "I love it."

"Better than 'useless'," the Kid says.

“Let’s just get everything and go,” Dave breaks in. He looks back towards the door, then at the rest of them. “We can snack in the truck, too.” 

"Here, I've already got it all sorted into bags," Jade says, holding up multiple plastic CVS bags. "Antibiotics, narcotics, one for steroids and cough stuff in case somebody gets pneumonia, even cleaned them out of their anti-puking stuff."

"Wasn't exactly kidding about the pain pills," Az says. "Feels like my head's gonna cave in."

“Take some Advil now, and you can take the narcotics tonight,” Dave says. “You don’t need to get stoned or pass out in the truck.”

“Speak for yourself. Even better, speak for yourself after _you_ get brained with a—what is that, anyway?” Az says, gesturing at the large wooden stick Jade hit him with.

Jade holds the stick up. “Jaydon,” she says, “what’s this?”

“Zombie bashin’ stick!” Jaydon says happily.

“There you have it,” Jade says. “One of you tubbies can carry Jaydon’s car seat, and me and the shrimp can carry the bags of pills. Probably take two trips either way, ‘specially if you want anything else from the aisles. Toothpaste, toothbrushes, mouthwash, since there’s gonna be five of us in the same truck.”

“Does he need...” Dave makes a face. “How old is he? Does he still need wipes and...” Dave trails off, looking uncomfortable. 

“That boy’s been potty-trained since eighteen months old,” Jade says, shaking her head at Dave. “Do I _look_ like somebody who wants to be wiping an almost-three-year-old’s butt?”

“I’m an only child!” Dave protests. 

“I don’t know what somebody who wants to wipe butts looks like,” the Kid says. 

“Old women at daycares?” Dave suggests. 

“One of my cousins wasn’t potty-trained until he was four and a half,” Az says. “Almost five, actually. They weren’t gonna let him start kindergarten ‘cause he still crapped his pants.”

“See?” Dave says, almost triumphantly. 

“Something wrong with that kid or his parents,” Jade says, one hand on her hip. She bends down and loops a half-dozen pull plastic bags on the same arm cradling her zombie bashing stick against her shoulder. She picks up another bag and hands it back to Jaydon, who holds it between his body and Jade’s back, then she turns to Dave with an impatient expression. “Well?”

“What?” Dave asks, looking down at the car seat. “I’ve already got the car seat.” 

“Where is your truck parked?” she asks.

“Oh, next to the handicapped spots,” Dave answers, gesturing towards the front of the store. 

Jade shakes her head. “Well, lead on, then. A couple of us are going to have to come back in for the rest of this stuff.”

Dave leads all of them out of CVS, pausing just inside the door to look around. “Still looks clear,” he announces, unlocking the truck. 

“Load this shit up and get out of here,” Az says. He looks out at the parking lot. “Dave, you know what to do with that seat?”

“I’ll install the seat,” Jade says. “One of you can take the shrimp back in to get whatever other supplies you need.”

“I’ll go in,” Dave says, shooting a big grin at Az. 

Once they’re out in the parking lot, the Kid realizes both Jade and Jaydon seem to be wearing pajamas, the footie kind for the little boy and a tank top and shorts for Jade, paired with men’s work boots that look too big for her. Her hair is braided into thin braids and pulled back. Jaydon stares at the Kid with big, dark brown eyes while they’re all putting the bags into various bins.

“Mama, he have orange hair,” Jaydon declares.

“Yeah, I know baby,” Jade says. “It’ll make him easy to find if we lose him.”

Dave looks surprised for a moment, then shrugs, looking at the Kid. “I guess that’s true.” 

“It’s not _that_ orange,” the Kid says.

“Yeah it is,” Jade replies. “Now you and tubby go back in for the rest of the stuff so we can go. Maybe grabs some of the candy on the way out.”

The Kid shrugs—candy always sounds like a good idea—and he and Dave walk back into the CVS. Neither of them says anything until they’re all the way back in the pharmacy, when the Kid turns to Dave and says, “She’s a little bit scary.”

“Guess she’s had to be?” Dave says, shrugging. “What with her kid and all.” 

“He seems, um. Useful?” the Kid says. 

“It’s good to have a lookout,” Dave agrees.

“They’re wearing pajamas.”

“Maybe they were asleep when the zombies came?” Dave picks up a box of stuff. “Az and I were playing video games.” 

“I was watching tv, so I was ready before they got to Lima,” the Kid says. “My bag was already packed.”

“We stuck around Lima for a few days,” Dave says. “Long enough to realize hardly anyone was left alive.” 

“I started walking on Monday morning. No reason to stay.”

“We were there long enough for Az to regret it,” Dave says with a chuckle. 

“Any extra day in Lima is a day to regret,” the Kid says. 

“Ran into a couple of people from McKinley,” Dave explains. “Az thought he could at least get a gun from them, but Hummel made sure that didn’t happen.” 

The Kid nods, even though he has no idea who ‘Hummel’ is. “I probably wouldn’t give him a gun either, if we weren’t in the same group.”

Dave chuckles again. “Yeah, I guess I can see that. Anything else we need?”

“She said to get candy,” the Kid says. “So we should probably get a lot of candy.”

“I could use some chocolate,” Dave agrees, heading down the candy aisle and starting to grab handfuls and put them in a box. 

"Lollipops. Anything really sweet," the Kid insists. "We might not get a second chance at candy."

“Somehow I doubt other people are spending their storage on candy, though,” Dave says dubiously. 

"We are," the Kid points out. 

Dave shrugs. “I guess so.” 

"I mean, I guess it can be useful, since there's a baby... Toddler? Thing?"

“Huh?” Dave looks confused. “You think he needs candy?”

"What if he cries?" the Kid asks. "We could give him candy and he'll stop."

“My dad always said whiskey.” Dave frowns. “Maybe he was kidding.” 

"Maybe we should get some whiskey," the Kid says.

“I’ll put that on my list,” Dave say. He grabs another set of candy and looks around. “Anything else?” 

"Hmm," the Kid says, also looking around at the displays surrounding them. "This, I think." He stands up on his tiptoes and presses his lips to Dave's. 

Dave chuckles against the Kid’s lips and kisses him back, then pulls back after a few long moments. “That works, too.” 

“What’s taking so long?” Az shouts from the door. “Dave, you trip and fall on his dick or something?”

“No!” Dave calls back, rolling his eyes. “I was getting you a lollipop.”

“He’s riding in back with the baby,” the Kid whispers as the two of them walk towards the door with their remaining bags of supplies. Dave and the Kid stow the bags in a bin, then Dave gets into the driver’s seat, the Kid slides into his spot in the middle, and Az starts to get into the front seat next to the Kid.

“Nope, in the back,” Dave says cheerfully to Az. “We have a lady riding with us now.”

“Aw, man, come on!” Az whines.

“Back,” Dave insists.

“Fine,” Az says, opening the back door to get in next to Jaydon’s carseat. “Where’s my lollipop, bitch?”

Dave looks over his shoulder disapprovingly at Az, then looks pointedly at Jaydon. “Az.”

“What?” Az asks.

Jade gets into the truck, turns around, and reaches over the seat to smack Az on the back of his head. “You watch your language or I’m gonna smack you back to Fort Wayne.”

“Ow, that hurts!” Az rubs the back of his head. “You already gave me a concussion.”

“Not my fault you looked like a zombie,” Jade says with a dismissive shrug, turning back towards the front. “I’m ready if you are. Jaydon’s all strapped in.”

Dave starts the truck and pulls back onto the road, heading northwest. “Do you know this area well?” he asks Jade. “A place to get gas where things are spread out more would be good.”

“I walked here from Chicago, and I’ve been in the CVS for a couple of days,” Jade says. 

“Well, we’ll keep an eye out,” Dave says, both hands on the wheel as he gradually speeds up. The Kid settles against Dave’s side; if Jade’s going to have a problem with that, probably better to know before they make it very far from the CVS. She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything, so that’s good, and they keep driving along 30, seeing the occasional zombie. 

After a few miles, Jade turns to the Kid and says, “Now, I know tubby’s name is Dave, useless is Az, though what kinda name that is, I don’t even know. Nobody’s called you anything, though. You got a name?”

“Ummmm,” the Kid says, since he’s not exactly sure what the right answer is to that question.

“He’s the Kid,” Dave answers her. “That’s all.”

“The Kid? What kind of non-name is the Kid?”

“His,” Dave says with a shrug. “It works for us.”

“The Kid it is, then,” Jade says, shaking her head. “Jaydon, baby, this is the Kid, Dave, and Az.”

“Hi!” Jaydon says. 

“Hey, Jaydon,” Dave says, lifting one hand off the steering wheel very briefly to wave, before returning it to the usual position.

“We ridin’ in the truck,” Jaydon declares. “Hit some zombies, bam!”

“Long as nobody hits me again,” Az says.

"Long as you don't give me a reason," Jade retorts.

"Mama, time for lunch?" Jaydon asks.

"Guess we have to ask Dave about that," Jade answers him.

“Yeah, lunch is a good idea, Jaydon,” Dave agrees. “We have a good selection of processed food,” he says to Jade. “Nothing fresh, not anymore.” 

"We mostly been living off the stuff you can find in the CVS," Jade says. "Little late to get picky now."

"We have soup. Canned soup," the Kid says. 

"Jaydon, you want some soup?" Jade asks.

"Want some pizza," Jaydon says. "Hot dogs and pizza."

"You're sh—squat outta luck there, kiddo," Az says. "Dave, didn't you get some Spaghetti-o's or something, though?"

“Spaghetti-o’s, yeah,” Dave agrees. “Maybe some cheese raviolis. And there’s always tomato soup?” He shrugs. “No hot dogs, but there’s vienna sausages.”

"We can work with cheese ravioli and vienna sausages," Jade says. 

"That stuff's all in the big bin under the window back there," Az says, jerking his thumb in the direction of the back window. "Kid, you making a trip or what?"

The Kid shrugs. Az can't fit out the window, and Jade looks too girl-shaped to really fit through it either, so unless they want to send Jaydon on his first post-apocalyptic mission, the Kid's going out the window again. 

"You have to move out of my way," the Kid says. "Dave, what should I get you, soup or Spaghetti-o's?"

“Some of that Chunky soup’s good for eating while driving,” Dave answers. The Kid nods and climbs over the back seat, squeezing between Az and Jaydon's carseat to get to the window. He wriggles through it and opens the bin, handing cans and a few plastic spoons through the window to Az, then he climbs back through the window and over the seat back, dropping into his seat.

"That's useful," Jade says. "Don't think either of these guys could fit through."

The Kid shrugs. "Everybody has important jobs." He reaches into his backpack and finds the can opener, handing it to Jade. She opens the cheese ravioli and the vienna sausages, cutting up some of the sausages and mixing them into the can of ravioli, which she hands to Jaydon with a spoon.

"Eat careful. Don't waste it playing with it," Jade says.

"'Kay, Mama."

The Kid pops the top on a can of beef and potato Chunk soup and sticks a spoon into it. He offers the can to Dave.

“Thanks,” Dave says, looking over at the Kid briefly and smiling. He transfers the can to his left hand, holding the can and the steering wheel, and slowly starts eating it. “I still don’t see any gas stations,” he adds when the can’s about half-empty. 

"If we stay on 30, we'll find one soon," the Kid says. 

“That’d be good.” Dave continues driving and eating, scraping the can with the spoon before handing it back to the Kid with another quiet “thanks.” The Kid opens a bottle of water and hands it to Dave, glancing around the cab to see if everyone else is done eating and has two free hands for any situations that call for use of a gun. Everybody but Jaydon seems done eating, so the Kid opens the can of creamed corn he grabbed for himself from the bin and starts eating. 

“No protein in corn,” Dave notes. 

“I’ll get some jerky later,” the Kid says, though he’s already started rationing the protein out in his head. With two big guys and a baby to feed, the Kid’s protein needs come lower on the pyramid. He doesn’t need much to be able to shoot a gun, and he doesn’t have to carry most of the heavy stuff. He can live off carbs almost indefinitely if it keeps Dave and the baby fed. 

“So how long have you two been together?” Jade suddenly asks, after the post-corn silence goes on too long.

“Um,” the Kid says.

Az snorts. “Forty-eight hours. One of them shotgun apocalypse deals.”

“Seriously?” Jade asks.

Dave looks behind him briefly at Az, making some kind of face, then turns back to the road, looking somewhat satisfied. “We’re from the same town,” Dave says evenly.

“Well, that’s nice,” Jade says. “I thought it was longer than that.”

“Time works funny when there’s zombies,” the Kid says. 

“Can’t argue with that,” Jade answers. 

“I’m single,” Az announces.

Jade rolls her eyes and mutters, “Ain’t the end of that story.”

“Az has a problem sometimes,” Dave says to Jade. “He just says whatever he’s thinking.”

“I’m a complicated man, Dave. Sometimes I’ve just gotta express myself,” Az says. “I have a lot to express.”

“How hard did you hit him?” the Kid whispers to Jade.

“Maybe not hard enough,” Jade whispers back, which makes the Kid laugh. 

“What? What’s so funny? Why are you laughing?”

“You’re bringing them joy, Az,” Dave says. “Joy.”

“Gotta joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart,” Jaydon sings.

“Does he do that very often?” the Kid asks.

“My baby likes to sing,” Jade says, turning to smile back at Jaydon. 

“Does he like classic rock?” Dave asks, sounding somewhat hopeful. 

“He likes everything. He’s two,” Jade says. “Almost three, but still.”

Dave shrugs one shoulder and nods. “Cool.”

“Just what you need, _another_ midget on your side,” Az grumbles

“Excuse me? Jaydon is in the eighty-fifth percentile for height,” Jade snaps. “And the sixtieth for weight.”

“No offense intended,” Az says, then gives Jade a smile that looks awfully smarmy. “Well, not to you and your kid anyway. Just to Dave and _his_ Kid.”

“Mmmhmm,” Jade says. She narrows her eyes at Az, shaking her head. “Whatever kind of cutesy act you think you’re trying, uh-uh. Ain’t gonna happen.”

“What?” Az asks. “I’m not trying any kind of act.”

“Mmmhmm,” Jade repeats. “Don’t.”

The Kid has to put his hand over his mouth to stifle the laugh, turning his head against Dave’s arm, and Dave outright chuckles. 

“She told you how it’s going to be, Az,” Dave says smugly. 

“See? Dave knows,” Jade says, which makes the Kid have to press his face even harder against Dave’s arm to keep from laughing aloud.

“Well,” Az says, but he doesn’t specify well _what_ , just slumps back against his seat with his arms crossed and a sour look on his face. 

“No cryin’,” Jaydon says in a serious voice. “Zombies hear you cryin’. You gotta _shhhh_.”

“I’m not crying,” Az grumbles. “Nothing wrong with me at all.”

“You my good boy,” Jaydon says, reaching out to pat Az on the shoulder. 

“Thanks, little guy,” Az says. "Least somebody appreciates me."

After the truck passes under interstate 55, Dave grins and puts on his turn signal. “Gas station,” he announces, turning left into the Mobil. The Kid draws his gun and looks over at Jade.

“Do you know how to use a gun?” he asks her.

“Not really. Guess I could learn.”

“Here,” he says, putting the revolver in her hand. “Just pull back on this, then aim, then pull the trigger. Keep your finger off it until you’re ready to shoot, though, and don’t shoot Az.”

“Hey now!” Az protests.

“I said don’t,” the Kid says, shrugging one shoulder. 

“That was the kind of ‘don’t’ that sounded a lot like ‘do’,” Az insists. 

Dave shrugs and climbs out of the truck, frowning at the gas pumps before getting a hose out of the truck and setting up a siphon from one of the tanks. He doesn’t look around as he works, only picking up his gun once the siphon is running. The Kid stands by the front of the truck, watching the road, Az near the truck’s tailgate, and Jade leans against the passenger side, practicing aiming the revolver in the direction of the interstate. With four adult-sized people, all armed, they can finally cover all four cardinal directions at once, which makes the Kid almost absurdly happy.

“We about ready?” Az calls out. “I see some slowpokes moseying our way.”

“Probably another minute,” Dave answers, peering at the truck. 

“Might take ‘em that long to get down here,” Az says. “Jade, you want to practice?”

“Don’t waste bullets,” the Kid cautions. “If they don’t get close, don’t shoot.”

“How close is close?” Jade asks.

“Close,” Dave says. “Not too close, so you can get another shot or two off. But think feet, not yards.”

Jade looks over at the Kid, then down at the revolver. “Feet sounds kinda close. Thought the point of guns was you didn’t have to get close.”

“Point of guns is to kill the zombie, not just knock it over,” the Kid says. “But you probably won’t have to worry about it. Those are slows, so not really likely they’ll make it here.”

“Slows?”

“Yes, like how some of them just shamble, but the ones that turned after the third day are fast and can run,” the Kid explains.

“I guess that’s pretty spot on,” Jade concedes. “Didn’t really think about it being on a specific day, but you’re right. Did seem like they started running all of a sudden.”

“Slows and fasts,” the Kid says.

“Tank’s full,” Dave announces, starting to coil up the hose. “Time to go on, I guess.”

“You have any extra cans or anything?” Jade asks. “In case we hit another stretch without a station, I mean.”

Dave shakes his head. “Haven’t seen any. Not a bad idea, if we do, though.” He dumps the hose back in the truck and hoists his gun. “Everybody back in.”

“Aye-aye, skipper,” Az says, saluting before he climbs into the back seat next to Jaydon. The Kid slides across the front seat to the middle, and Jade gets in behind him, pulling the door closed. 

“Here,” she says, trying to hand the Kid the revolver. He shakes his head.

“No, you keep it, just make sure you slide that back.” The Kid points at the safety latch. “We can practice with it later, when we stop again, if we see any zombies.”

“Thanks,” Jade says. 

Dave climbs in last, locking the doors and starting the engine. “We’re making good time today,” he says. “Even though it’s in the city. Or suburbs.” He frowns and shrugs. “Not farmland.”

“How far did we want to go today?” the Kid asks. “Drive until dark, or did you want to pick a definite stop point?” 

“We don’t want to stop too early, not in the middle of everything,” Dave says, looking briefly to his left. “Maybe have a point, after that we start looking for a good place.”

“Okay,” the Kid says. He leans across Jade with a quick “sorry” to get the map, leaning against Dave’s arm as he opens the map across his own lap. “We might be able to make it to the Mississippi River if we push.”

“Let’s not push unless we have to,” Dave says quickly. “Good night’s sleep, something for dinner, no need to get worn out.”

“If we can make good time, maybe we could shoot for Sterling, maybe even Morrison,” the Kid days. “Morrison’s smaller, looks like farmland on both sides.”

Dave nods, not looking away from the road, and keeps the truck moving steadily. In the back seat, Jaydon starts chattering to Az, talking about the road, the truck, zombies, and his mama, and Az actually answers him and asks him questions. After a few slow miles, Jade rests her head against the window glass and dozes off. By the time they’ve been driving for a little over a half hour, Jaydon and Az have gone quiet, too. The Kid glances into the back; both of them are asleep.

The Kid opens a bottle of water and hands it to Dave. “Okay?” he asks.

 

Dave takes the water and drinks half the bottle before answering. “Easier driving than I thought it’d be.” 

“Not really what I mean,” the Kid says. “But okay. You want a snack?”

Dave shrugs. “If there’s something already in here. I’m going too fast for you to climb through right now.”

“I could if you needed me to. It would be fine.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Dave insists. “Food’ll be there when we stop.” He drains the rest of the water bottle and hands it back to the Kid. The Kid rifles through his backpack for a moment, then hands Dave a granola bar.

“Eat that.”

Dave nods and opens it, eating it in three bites. “Thanks.”

“More water?” Dave shakes his head. “Drink it anyway,” the Kid insists, pressing the bottle against the back of Dave’s hand. “None of us are drinking enough, I don’t think.” Dave takes it, making a face, and finishes that bottle in one long gulp, still driving, and then he drops the bottle back into the Kid’s hand. The Kid settles back against Dave’s arm.

“You should sleep, too,” Dave says after another mile. 

“No, I’m good. If you’re awake, I’m awake,” the Kid says. 

“That’s nuts,” Dave says quietly, but he doesn’t seem upset about it.

“You need someone else awake,” the Kid replies. “You have to drive. I can shoot.”

“Well, Jaydon needs a few more years, but...” Dave trails off. “Okay, yeah, I can’t really say Az is the best shot, can I?”

“No. That’s me.”

“Yeah, but even against himself, he’s not the best,” Dave says, looking almost guilty. 

“He’ll get better,” the Kid says. “Jade will learn, too. She holds the gun well.”

“She’s smart,” Dave says. “That’s good.”

“It’s kind of weird to have a baby to have to worry about, though,” the Kid says, looking back over his shoulder at Jaydon slumped in his carseat. “Not something I really thought I would have to worry about.”

Dave shrugs. “I think it’ll work out.”

“I hope so. Do you think Az’s uncle will really take all of us in?” 

“I think we’re able to work. Shoot. Have some supplies. And Az is family.” Dave shrugs again. “If not, we’ll find an abandoned Mormon farm.”

“It’s just, Mormons and... us,” the Kid says. “Is it going to be a problem, do you think?”

“I bet we have more guns by now than they do,” Dave says almost cheerfully. 

“That’s possible,” the Kid says. “Have you ever met the Mormons?”

“Nope. I bet they have bicycles, though.”

“I, um. I don’t know how to ride a bicycle,” the Kid confesses. 

“It’s not hard,” Dave says dismissively. “The Mormons probably have all kinds of tips.” He falls silent for a few minutes before looking briefly at the Kid. “How many miles? Seems like it’s going well.” 

“Looked like somewhere between a hundred and a hundred and ten from Joliet to Morrison. We’ve gone thirty, maybe forty?”

Dave nods. “Not bad.”

“It’s nice. Quiet,” the Kid says. “I thought it might be noisy with the extra people.”

“Probably after they wake up,” Dave says with almost a faint chuckle. 

“Nice for now, at least,” the Kid says. He rests his head against Dave’s arm, fighting the urge to close his eyes, despite what he told Dave about staying awake. Between the previous night and his short nap before Joliet, he’s going on just over two hours of sleep, and he’s comfortable and feels surprisingly safe, considering the zombies. He can’t let himself doze off though, but maybe he could just close his eyes for a second and just feel okay, and not worry about the apocalypse for a few miles.

The Kid opens his eyes again and has to blink hard a few times. The scenery looks about the same, but he has the sense that more time has passed than should have. He rubs his eyes and sits up, looking around the truck’s cab at everyone but Dave still sleeping.

“Did I fall asleep?”

“Maybe?” Dave says, with the same shrug. “I think we’re making good time, anyway.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep,” the Kid says. “I just...”

“It’s fine,” Dave assures him. “You want to check how much farther? I saw a sign about Morrison a few miles back.”

The Kid reaches for the map, which seems to have slid to the floor during his inadvertent nap. He spreads it out again, trying to do it quietly, so he doesn’t wake anyone else. “Looks like we might be,” he looks out the window and squints at a mile marker, “ten miles from Morrison.”

“Sounds good,” Dave says. “We’ll start looking for a house or something once we’re through it.” He glances behind him very briefly. “If we can find a place before Jaydon wakes up, that might be good.” 

“Yeah, I guess it would be,” the Kid says. He holds the map with his right hand and rests his left hand on Dave’s leg. Dave looks at him briefly and smiles, then looks back at the road. They drive for another fifteen minutes before they reach Morrison, which looks like a ghost town after Joliet, with empty streets, abandoned cars, no bodies or zombies. 

Dave slows down as they leave the main part of the city, clearly starting to look for a place to stop. When their speed drops, Az yawns in the back seat. The Kid can see him stretching and looking around the truck with bleary eyes.

“We there yet?” Az asks.

“Nah, we hit Nebraska and decided to keep going,” Dave answers. “We’re almost to the Pacific now.”

“Man, you are so full of shit, I can’t—”

“Language,” Jade says, without opening her eyes.

“You heard the lady,” Dave says. 

“We getting close to a stop?” Jade asks.

“Looking for a good place,” Dave says, peering off the road periodically. 

“Outside of town?” Az asks, as they reach the western side of Morrison.

“Yeah.” Dave slows down after another mile, then shakes his head. “Too open.” He speeds up again, slowing and discarding several more houses. Most of them he declares too open, one just “doesn’t look safe,” and two are rejected because “all of that’s visible from the highway.” 

“Dave,” the Kid says quietly. “We need to stop.”

“Not that one,” Dave mutters, already having speeded up again, but at the next mailbox, he turns into the driveway, looking grumpy. 

“We’ll clear it first,” the Kid says, still keeping his voice low. “It’ll be okay.”

Dave nods, still frowning, but he looks a little more pleased as he has to drive further from the road before they encounter the house. He parks to the side of it and turns off the engine. “Let’s hope it’s not a one bedroom.”

“Looks big enough for at least two,” the Kid says. 

“Mama?” Jaydon’s voice pipes up from the back. “Mama, I gotta pee.”

Dave chuckles. “Guess we stopped at the right time.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dave sits still in the truck for a few seconds after Jaydon’s announcement about his bladder, not really sure why he’s doing it. The moment passes, though, and he picks up his gun as he unlocks the doors to the truck. “Time to clear it, I guess,” he says, his voice sounding too loud when he starts speaking, in the truck, and too quiet as he climbs out of it. 

The Kid gets out of the truck immediately behind Dave, gun already unholstered and up. “We can’t take the baby in,” he says to Dave, keeping his voice low.

“Az, stay with Jaydon,” Dave says, raising his voice and looking over at Jade to make sure she doesn’t object. She narrows her eyes at Az, then nods. 

“Why am I on babysitting duty?” Az asks.

Dave shrugs. “‘Cause you’re already back there.” He shuts the truck door, wanting to avoid any discussion of his real reasoning, which centers around the fact that Jade seems more accurate with a stick than Az sometimes does with a gun. Dave heads towards the door under the carport and tries the handle, then shakes his head. “Should we find a window?”

A brief look of unease crosses the Kid’s face before he nods. “Okay. Maybe around the back.”

Dave nods and looks at Jade. “Wait here, he’ll let you in soon,” he tells her, then walks with the Kid around the back of the house. “Bathroom window?” he asks the Kid. “Or bedroom?”

“Bathroom’s small. Fewer places to hide,” the Kid says. He gives Dave a forced-looking smile, and adds, “No Maudes.”

“Yeah, good point,” Dave says, scanning the window and then nodding at one. “I think that’s the bathroom.” He heads towards it and pushes it open before turning to the Kid. The Kid nods and walks over to the window, looking up at it and catching hold of the sill. He starts to pull himself up, and Dave notices that he can’t tell by looking which ankle was the hurt one. Still, he steps forward and boosts the Kid up the rest of the way, peering in the window a little as he does so. The bathroom is nondescript, but the Kid is right—no places to hide. 

“Meet you at the door,” the Kid says, slowly opening the bathroom door and disappearing down the hall. Dave waits for another five or ten seconds before moving, making sure he doesn’t hear any yelling or gunshots, and then heads back to the carport door. The door opens two minutes later.

“Clear,” the Kid announces, holding the door open. 

“The whole thing?” Dave asks, surprised. “Okay.” He turns towards the truck and waves Az and Jaydon towards them. Az gets out of the truck with Jaydon, who seems to insist on holding Az’s hand as they walk towards the carport. When they get to Jade, she raises an eyebrow at Az and holds her hand out towards Jaydon, who takes it without letting go of Az’s hand. 

“Well? There enough room in there for everybody?” Az asks.

“Four bedrooms, two bathrooms,” the Kid says. “Small, but bigger than the truck, so...” He shrugs. 

“Let’s see if we can eat from here,” Dave suggests, heading in and looking around. “Someone opened the refrigerator after the power went out,” he says a moment later, wrinkling his nose.

“Damn, that stinks,” Az complains, which makes Jade point at him menacingly. “I mean, oh gosh darn, that sure smells bad,” Az says in an _I Love Lucy_ voice. 

“Smelled worse,” Jade says.

“Mama, smells like trashcan!”

“I know, baby. Nothing we can do about it,” Jade says. “Here, we’ll swing.” She raises her arm a little and glares at Az until he does the same. Jaydon lifts his legs and swings from their arms, apparently forgetting about the smell. 

Dave opens the cabinets and grimaces a little at the sparse remains. “Well, there’s canned tomatoes,” he announces after a few minutes. “And… chickpeas. And spices.” He glances at the stove. “Think there’s gas here, too?”

“Stove looks electric,” the Kid says. 

“Cold tomatoes and chickpeas, then,” Dave says with a shrug.

“We still got that canned heat stuff,” Az says. 

“Should we use it already?” Dave responds, frowning. 

“Hell, Dave, I don’t know,” Az says. “Do I look like I got my PhD in zombie apocalypse?”

“Yes,” Dave says, nodding. “You just need two of those hood things in different colors. Red, for one of them.”

“Yeah, how about you go fu—” Az cuts himself off and looks down at Jaydon, swinging from Az and Jade’s hands. “Forget yourself. You go forget yourself, Dave.”

“Who’s Dave?” Dave says, turning around with a blank look on his face. The Kid makes a snorting sound, turning his face against his arm. 

"I bet I could put together some kinda salsa thing," Az declares. "Tomatoes, chickpeas, put some cumin in there, it'll be fine. Use what we got, right?" He smiles at Jade, who doesn't look impressed by Az's purported meal preparation skills. 

“Too bad no more of those enchiladas,” Dave says, shaking his head. “Guess we ought to bring stuff in, though. Hey, Jaydon, you and your mom want to pick out a room for you to sleep in?”

"Bedtime?" Jaydon asks, side-eying Dave. "It daytime out there."

“No, not time for bed yet,” Dave agrees. “Just thought you might want to try the beds out. Make sure you get the best one.” 

Jaydon looks at Dave for a few seconds, like he's trying decide of this is a trick, then gives one sharp nod. "Okay. C'mon, Mama. C'mon, Az."

"Uh-uh, Az stays here with Dave and Kid," Jade says. 

"C'mon, Az, too," Jaydon insists.

"Hey, if Jaydon insists," Az begins, before Jade turns on him.

"My child is not the boss of me, and when I say no, I mean no, and that's the end of that," Jade snaps at Az, who takes a half a step back and lets got of Jaydon's hand. Jade yanks on Jaydon's arm, saying, "Now you come back here like I said."

"Yes, Mama. Okay, Mama," Jaydon answers, letting Jade lead him towards the bedrooms.

“Shouldn’t need to bring too much in,” Dave says as they walk the short distance from the door to the truck. “Unless we think someone else is likely to pull in here.” 

"It's not visible from the road," the Kid points out. "We'll be fine."

"I wasn't trying to cause any trouble with Jade and her kid," Az says. "Not my fault he likes me."

“Maybe she’s not used to being around people who don’t have kids?” Dave suggests, picking up one of the bins. “I miss movies.” 

"I wonder how old she is. Bet she had Jaydon real young," Az muses. "Bet she's our age."

“You can’t ask a lady her age,” Dave says solemnly.

"You can't steal her wallet and check, either," the Kid adds. "Her clothes are just pajamas."

"Yeah, gonna need to get better clothes for both of 'em," Az says. "Maybe they got something here."

“Yeah, I bet so,” Dave says, nodding a little and adding another bin to his stack. “Ready?”

"I miss movies, too," the Kid says quietly. He gathers up a few more bags, including some of the bags from the CVS. "Ready."

“I hope your relatives don’t have a problem with s’mores,” Dave says to Az. “Mormons eat marshmallows, right?”

"Far as I know, anyway," Az says. "But my uncle even drinks coffee, so hell, maybe they aren't supposed to eat s'mores. Bet they do anyway."

"Unless the zombie apocalypse made them more devout," the Kid says.

Dave shakes his head. “I don’t think even Mormons saw zombies coming.”

"Probably not," the Kid concedes. The three of them carry the stuff back inside, and Dave closes and locks the door behind them. Then he decides to close all the blinds and curtains, and passes Jade and Jaydon while he’s doing that. 

“Find a room?” Dave asks Jaydon. 

"Yeah. Must've had kids here sometimes, front room's got Legos," Jade says. "Looks like a guest room, though."

"Legos!" Jaydon declares.

“Sounds pretty cool,” Dave says to Jaydon, and then he looks at Az. “So whichever room’s smaller is yours, ours is the bigger one.” 

"Fine, whatever," Az grumbles. "I'll take the one next to Jade and Jaydon."

"And stay in it," Jade says.

"We should eat something," the Kid says. 

“Chef Az,” Dave says dryly, turning towards Az and then gesturing sweepingly towards the kitchen. Az nods and lumbers off in that direction.

"I think I'm going to sponge Jaydon down before we eat," Jade says. "He's got that puppy stink."

“Arf arf,” Dave says to Jaydon quietly, who laughs.

"Dave's a dog," Jaydon says. "Sit!" Dave looks around behind him and finds the nearest chair, then sits down promptly. Jaydon laughs again. "Good dog!"

Dave grins at him. “Why don’t you let your mom clean you off now, so you can try out the Legos?” Dave suggests, and then looks at the Kid. “We should take them with us when we go,” he says more quietly. 

The Kid seems to consider it for a moment before nodding. “They don’t take up much room, I guess,” he says. Jade leads Jaydon into the bathroom, leaving Dave and the Kid alone in the hallway. 

“Could be fun, don’t need batteries,” Dave adds, looking in the bedrooms briefly. “We should go through them for useful stuff now, so we don’t have to later.” Dave figures Jade and Jaydon’ll go to bed soon after dinner, and that’s what Az has done, too, which gives Dave and the Kid some time without people being nosy. 

The Kid nods, and says, “Work on the rooms together or split up?”

“Guess it’s faster to split up,” Dave says after a moment. “But let’s look for suitcases or bags, too.” 

“Clothes for Jade and Jaydon. They need something that’ll be better protection, just in case,” the Kid says. “Jade’s boots are too big.”

“Yeah. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll have left some winter clothes in Jaydon’s size,” Dave says, looking into the closest bedroom. 

They find only one suitcase, which combined with the smell, makes Dave think the inhabitants left after more than a few days. The room with the Legos turns out to have some kids’ clothes, though, probably a little too big for Jaydon, but Dave figures that might be a good thing. Jeans, thick socks, and some sweaters, plus a few t-shirts, and all of that’s more or less for a boy or a girl, but then Dave holds up a pink and purple windbreaker. 

“Good for the rain,” he says. 

“Maybe so,” the Kid says, though he eyes the windbreaker dubiously. 

“It doesn’t have any glitter on it.” 

“He’s a baby, so maybe he won’t care that it’s that color,” the Kid says.

“We can see him in it, at least, right?” Dave says with a little shrug. He puts the windbreaker on top of the other clothes in the one bag they found, and carries it towards the living room. 

“Food’s almost ready,” Az says, leaning in from the kitchen. “I’m doing the best I can to make this shit palatable, but I can’t make miracles happen.”

“And here I thought you might walk on water,” Dave says, wide-eyed.

“Just don’t say that shit in front of my aunt when we get to Nebraska. She might believe it,” Az warns. “Azimio Christ.”

“You’re the one related to Mormons,” Dave says with a slow shake of his head. 

“He wasn’t born a Mormon,” Az retorts. “Just born again one.”

“That’s even worse,” Dave says. “He was taken in by college students on bicycles.”

“Dave! Sit!” Dave turns around and chuckles at Jaydon, wrapped in a towel and nothing else, then he laughs and sits down. 

“People aren’t dogs, Jaydon,” Jade says, appearing behind Jaydon. “Maybe Dave doesn’t want to keep sitting all the time.”

“Roll over!” Jaydon counters. This time, Dave doesn’t obey the order, just keeps chuckling. Jaydon doesn’t seem bothered, though, and immediately focuses his attention on the small stack of clothes topped with the windbreaker. “Oh! So pretty!”

“There’s no glitter on it,” Dave says, because he doesn’t know much about clothes, but he does know glitter gets everywhere. 

“You found some clothes that fit him?” Jade asks. “That’s great. He’s been in those footie pajamas since the day the zombies hit.”

“I think they might be a little big?” Dave says. “But they aren’t that much bigger than him.” 

“That’s great. Thanks. Jaydon, tell Dave thank you,” Jade says.

“Sit!” Jaydon says. 

“Alright, dinner’s ready, such as it is,” Az calls out. 

“Sounds better than nothing,” Dave says, walking into the kitchen. Az isn’t exactly wrong, since it’s just tomatoes, chickpeas, and what Dave thinks is chicken, mixed up with spices on some hard tortillas, but it doesn’t look that bad, either. 

“I’m calling it taco salad, ‘cause it makes me feel better about it,” Az says. “I put some taco sauce in with it. Hope Jaydon’ll eat it.”

“Taco salad sounds better, too,” Dave agrees, sitting down at the table. The Kid sets a bunch of bottled water on the table as Jade and Jaydon sit, then the Kid sits down in the seat next to Dave. Az arranges plates of the questionable-looking taco salad in front of everyone. 

“What’s that?” Jaydon asks, pointing at the food. 

“The new version of Taco Bell,” Dave says, shaking his head. “Or maybe more like that restaurant we stopped in. Best of both worlds or whatever.” He looks over at Jade. “You have any interesting stories?”

“Define interesting,” Jade says. She leans over and starts cutting Jaydon’s food up. “What about you three? You’re all from Fort Wayne?”

“Yep,” Dave says, nodding. “It’s been a pretty quiet drive, coming out 30. But you walked?”

“Yeah. Not that quiet,” Jade replies. “Managed to get the stick after we’d been walking for a while, so that was something. Before that, I just had to be ready to run.”

“Just the zombies, or other people, too?” Dave asks, thinking about the morning they woke up with the guns in their faces. 

Jade gives Dave a long, hard look before replying. “Nobody else alive in Chicago.”

Dave tips his head in concession. “We only saw a few people before we left home.” 

“Last person I saw alive was my Gramma,” Jade says. “And she wasn’t by the time we got out of there.”

“Oh, we knew the people we saw,” Dave says innocently, looking at Az and almost grinning. 

“You gotta bring that sh—stuff up every time?” Az asks. “Seriously?” 

“You guys all knew each other, too?” Jade asks. “Probably nice to have somebody to ride it out with.”

“Went to the same school,” Dave says, somewhat evasively. 

“Mama, I like this!” Jaydon announces, holding up a piece of tortilla with the taco salad mixture on it.

“At least somebody does,” Az says. 

“I feel like we’re in one of those books in English,” Dave says. “Everyone has a job, Az.” 

“How I turned into the chef, I do not know,” Az mutters, shaking his head. 

“My job is eatin’ food,” Jaydon says. 

“Not a bad job,” Dave says to him. 

“So you guys all in high school? Were in high school, I guess?” Jade asks. 

“Yeah,” Dave confirms in between bites. “Guess we don’t need to worry about graduating, now.” He thinks about asking if Jade was in college, but he has no idea if that’s the right thing to ask or not. 

“I didn’t miss out on that either way. Got my GED after Jaydon was born.”

“Did you go to preschool yet?” Dave asks Jaydon. 

“I go to Miss Dee’s,” Jaydon says. 

“Cool,” Dave says. “I bet you had a four-point-oh.” 

Jade looks at Dave incredulously. “That’s his daycare lady. Was his daycare lady.”

“Everything’s a was now, mostly,” the Kid says. 

Dave laughs a little, still looking at Jade. “I’m pretty sure preschools don’t use a four point scale, anyway.” 

“More Legos now, Mama?” Jaydon asks. 

“Better keep an eye on those Legos, little man,” Az says. “I think Dave’s Kid was eyeballing them.” Jaydon looks alarmed, but the Kid just glares at Az. 

“You can go find the Legos. I’ll be back there in a few minutes,” Jade says. Jaydon slides out of his chair, still wrapped in his towels, and runs down the hall with it flapping behind him.

“There were some t-shirts in that bag,” Dave offers. 

“I’ll go through the bag, probably look through the drawers in the guest room,” Jade says. “Now that he’s naked, it’ll be a fight to get him back into clothes again.”

“I have that same problem,” Az says. Dave rolls his eyes and reaches out to whack Az in the shoulder. 

“Ignore him,” Dave says to Jade.

“Ignore who?” Jade asks with a slightly evil smile. Dave chuckles and finishes the rest of his food, then picks up his water to take a drink. When he goes to set the empty bottle back down, there’s a full bottle in its place, and Dave shakes his head as he picks up the new bottle, since he didn’t even see the Kid move. 

“I’d better go back and check on him before he gets into more than Legos,” Jade says, pushing her chair back from the table. “Thanks for dinner. Best we’ve eaten since all this started.”

Az opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, and Dave shakes his head quickly. Instead, Az just says, “You’re welcome.”

“The good thing about zombies,” Dave says cheerfully as Jade leaves the kitchen, “is we don’t have to actually do dishes.”

“Bet the Mormons still do dishes,” Az says. “Probably some kind of waste not, want not thing.”

Dave shrugs. “As long as they don’t try to guilt us into it.” 

“No, they’ll just _nice_ you into. Wait and see, you’ll know what I’m talking about,” Az says. He stands up and gathers the empty paper plates, setting them on the kitchen counter. “Now I think I’m going to take a nice cold shower.”

“Have fun with that,” Dave says as Az leaves the kitchen, then finishes his second bottle of water. “Being ‘niced’ into something sounds painful,” he says once he puts the bottle down. The Kid nods in agreement. “Guess we should make sure everything’s locked up.” 

“Okay.” The Kid stands up and looks around the kitchen briefly before locking the door to the carport. 

“I think I got all the windows,” Dave says, standing and walking into the living room to check the front door. “Already getting darker earlier.” 

“Yeah. It’ll start getting cold soon,” the Kid says. 

“Yeah,” Dave says with a nod as he heads down the hall towards the bedroom, the Kid just behind him. “We need to get to Nebraska soon,” Dave says quietly, waiting until the door is shut behind them to speak louder. “We have to get as much as we can out of the day when we’re driving. And start looking for sweaters for the rest of us, I guess.” Dave snorts. “No one ever talked about clothes when they talked about zombies.” 

“People don’t think about that stuff,” the Kid says, shrugging one shoulder. “People thought it was fun to imagine zombies, too, so...”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Dave concedes. “Maybe we should make a list tomorrow. Give everyone something to think about.” Something besides zombies lurching out, or where to get gas, Dave adds mentally. The Kid nods again, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking off his shoes, wincing a little as he pulls off the left shoe. “Still giving you trouble?”

“It’s okay. It won’t slow us down.”

“Just wondered if you needed it wrapped again,” Dave says, shrugging and toeing off his own shoes. 

“Maybe in the morning,” the Kid says. “Thanks, though.” He falls backwards onto the bed with a small sigh. 

“Tired?” Dave asks. As soon as he says it, he can feel a yawn rising up, and he stifles it impatiently. “Guess driving’s more tiring than I thought.” 

The Kid nods. “It’s a lot of work,” he says. “But I’m okay. But you can sleep if you need to.”

“Nah, not yet,” Dave says. “I don’t want to wake up at three in the morning, for starters.” He pulls off his t-shirt and sniffs it, then makes a face. “Okay, maybe a shower in the morning.” 

The Kid nods again. “Yeah, that would be good.” He pulls his own t-shirt over his head and makes a half-hearted attempt at folding it before shaking his head and just dropping it on the floor. 

Dave lies down on the bed next to the Kid. “Did we do the right thing?” 

The Kid doesn’t answer at first, then turns his head to look at Dave. “Could you have left a baby in a CVS without his mom?”

“Was more thinking if we’d taken Jaydon and left Jade behind on her own,” Dave admits. 

“I don’t know anything about babies.”

“Yeah, me either. Or we could have just left ‘em there, but that seems more cruel than anything else.”

“Not really safe to just leave people anymore,” the Kid says. “They’re either with us or they may as well be zombies.”

“Maybe,” Dave says. “I keep trying not to worry about the zombies we drive past.”

“We can’t stop and kill all of them, even if we had that many bullets.”

“Yeah. I just keep thinking, well, they can’t run as fast as the truck, at least.” 

“They can’t. Not even the fasts,” the Kid agrees. “If we’re moving, we’re doing okay. Even if we’re stopped, if anything comes, I’ll shoot it.”

“Nebraska’s flat. Maybe the Mormons have spent their time building a lookout tower,” Dave says thoughtfully. “We could learn to be snipers.”

“That would be fun,” the Kid says. 

“You think we could make it in two more days?” Dave asks. “Just one more night of trying to find a house to break into?”

“We can push through. Start earlier, drive longer,” the Kid says. “Eat while we move and only stop for gas and bathroom breaks.”

“Just seems like it’d be a good idea, is all,” Dave says. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just that this is a part of the country I’ve never been in. Indiana wasn’t so strange.”

The Kid nods, and then Dave feels the Kid’s hand in his. “We’ll keep moving. We can get there in two days,” he says. “If you need a break from driving, someone else can do it. If you don’t, I’ll open cans and water for you while you drive.”

“I’m not sure I trust Az behind the wheel,” Dave says with a little chuckle, squeezing the Kid’s hand. “Do you?”

“Do you trust me?” the Kid asks softly.

“Yeah,” Dave says equally softly. “But you’re the best shot we have, by far. Not having you available to shoot’s a lot riskier than me driving with the air conditioning blasting on my face.” 

“Okay. Just tell me if you need things.”

“I’m usually not that self-aware,” Dave admits, because it’s true. Even before the zombies happened, meals were at the same time each day, certain activities made him think of snacks or drinks, and he sometimes just made a habit of going in the bathroom when he passed one. 

“Okay,” the Kid repeats. “Then I’ll tell you when you need things.”

Dave snorts. “Oh yeah?”

“If you don’t know, somebody needs to know,” the Kid says in a perfectly reasonable tone. “I can be somebody who knows.”

“You don’t think I should let it be Az?” Dave asks. 

“Do you want it to be Az instead?”

“I think if it were Az we’d eat too much, drink too little, and take bizarre stops.”

The Kid nods soberly. “Do you want it to be Jade’s job?”

“I don’t know Jade. I think she’s probably not up for it.”

“I guess that only leaves me, then.”

Dave chuckles. “You should let Jaydon help you.”

“Jaydon can help Az,” the Kid says. “I think they are bros now.”

“Help us all, then,” Dave says wryly. 

“If you don’t want me to help, I won’t help. I’ll just let you be thirsty, if you really want it that way.”

“Huh?” Dave says. “Where’d you get that?”

“Well, Az or Jaydon?” the Kid says. 

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about now,” Dave admits. 

“Okay. I won’t talk about it anymore, it’s okay,” the Kid says.

Dave studies the Kid’s face for a moment, then sits up. “Why don’t you sleep until the sun’s down? I’ll watch it, and keep an eye out. No point in keeping watch once the sun’s down. I’ll wake you back up then.” 

“No, it’s okay, I’m okay,” the Kid protests.

“No, really,” Dave insists. “You can’t remember to get me to eat if you’re too tired, right?” he teases, smiling at the Kid. 

“I guess not,” the Kid concedes. “But you’ll wake me up in a little while?”

“Promise,” Dave says, squeezing the Kid’s hand again. The Kid’s eyes close, and Dave’s pretty sure he’s asleep within less than a minute. Dave does release his hand and then stand up, walking to the window and staring out of it. He’s not sure what day it is, or if it really matters what day it is. It is weird to have their world so narrowed to so few people, and Dave is starting to think that maybe there really aren’t other people still out there, just separated by miles and time. If there were, why would Jade and Jaydon have still been in the CVS? 

Dave isn’t sure how long he stands at the window, watching the sun go down, but he told the Kid he’d watch, so he does. He waits until the last light is gone from the western sky, and counts slowly to two hundred before he turns back to the bed, walking as quietly as he can before easing onto the bed and leaning over. 

“Hey,” he whispers, kissing the Kid’s cheek. 

The Kid’s eyes open immediately, looking around the room almost frantically. “Did I sleep too long?”

“Sun’s just down,” Dave says. “Feel better?” 

The Kid nods. “Do you want to sleep now? I can stay awake.”

“Thought we’d just be for a little bit,” Dave says softly. 

“Okay. That’s good, too. I like that.”

Dave nods, letting the room be silent for a few moments. “I have no idea how to train myself to wake up with the sunrise,” he admits. 

“Maybe you’ll just get used to it over time?” the Kid says. “I don’t know, either. Maybe the light will come in and wake you up.”

“Yeah.” Dave chuckles quietly. “Except I just watched the sunset, so maybe not. It was nice. It’s good some things don’t change.”

“Yeah,” the Kid answers. His hand finds Dave's and squeezes. Dave squeezes back and lies down next to the Kid. 

“I wish I’d taken an astronomy class, though,” Dave says wryly. 

"So you could navigate by the stars?" the Kid asks.

“No,” Dave admits sheepishly. “Just so we could find the constellations and tell the myths about them.” 

"It's not too late to learn. Maybe we can find a book?"

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Dave says. “But if I’d done it before, I would have felt really smart, right?” He turns his head towards the Kid and grins. 

"You can read the book and I won't," the Kid offers. "Then you can still feel smart."

Dave chuckles quietly. “Okay. I’ll hide it from the rest of them, too, so they can just think I kept quiet at first.” 

"Yes. I'll never betray your secret, either," the Kid says. "You can trust me."

“I appreciate it,” Dave says solemnly, shifting onto his side. “Really.”

"I know," the Kid replies. He tilts his head to look at Dave, studying his face. After a moment passes, he asks, "You're sure you don't want to sleep yet?"

Dave shakes his head. “Not yet,” he admits, looking back at the Kid. He’s not sure how to say what he does want, and a little part of him still isn’t sure how to say it even in his own head, so he just stares at the Kid, hoping somehow he’s getting it across.

It must work, because the Kid moves closer to Dave, still holding his hand, and presses his lips to Dave's. Dave squeezes the Kid’s hand as he returns the kiss, leaning into it. The Kid's lips part, his tongue touching Dave's tongue as Dave deepens the kiss and slides his other hand onto the Kid’s shoulder. The Kid presses the palm of his free hand against Dave's chest, fingers curling slightly.

Dave and the Kid kiss for long enough that Dave loses track of time again, and he lets his hand slide onto the Kid’s chest, fingers spread and palm flat. The Kid’s heart is beating fast, and Dave wonders for a moment if it’s always like that, and then wonders if he’ll remember to check the next day. The Kid lets go of Dave's hand to push his hand into Dave's hair, his other hand still on Dave's chest, but slowly starting to slide downward. 

Dave pulls away from the kiss slowly, his eyes still mostly closed. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here,” he admits. “But what do you want to do?” 

"I don't either," the Kid says. "Just do what feels good and then pretend like you knew the whole time, like with the stars." His hand moves lower, down to Dave's stomach, the tips of the Kid's fingers slipping under the waistband of Dave's jeans. "This is good?"

“Yeah, it’s good,” Dave assures him. “And I mean, I really don’t—I spent a lot of time—well.” Dave shakes his head. “That kind of thing doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” 

The Kid shakes his head. "Did you like last night? What we did?"

“Yeah.” Dave mirrors the motion of the Kid’s hand. “Did you?” 

The Kid laughs softly. "A lot," he says. "Do you want me to do it again?"

“If you want to,” Dave says, nodding. “Yeah. I do.” 

"See? You know what to do," the Kid says. He undoes the button on Dave's jeans and slowly lowers the zipper, slipping his hand inside to cup Dave's dick through his underwear. 

“Tell you yes is what to do?” Dave asks, grinning at the Kid. “I see how you have this working.” He moves his hand lower on the Kid’s torso, resting it on his stomach. 

"It's like water. I tell you when you need it," the Kid says. His fingers curl around Dave dick through the fabric. "Right?"

Dave chuckles. “Yes.”

The Kid shifts so he's sitting up more, his hand moving from Dave's dick to start tugging down on his jeans. Dave lifts his hips up, pushing on his jeans, and soon the Kid has them off, tossed to the side, doing the same with Dave's underwear. Once Dave's clothes are all off, the Kid runs both his hands down Dave's chest and stomach, finally wrapping one around Dave's dick again.

"I like you with no clothes," the Kid whispers.

“Only then?” Dave jokes quietly, feeling a little overwhelmed by the sentiment. 

"No. With clothes, too," the Kid says. "I just like you a lot without them. You feel good."

“Oh. Thanks.” Dave bites his lip and then smiles at the Kid. “Told you I wasn’t good at this.” 

"No, you're doing it all just right," the Kid insists. He moves his hand on Dave's dick, slowly stroking it. 

“I don’t know about that,” Dave counters, but he reaches for the Kid’s jeans and slowly unfastens them. The Kid somehow manages to wriggle out of his jeans without moving his hand from Dave's dick, and he does the same with his underwear. 

"I know," the Kid insists. "Feels just right to me."

“If you say so,” Dave says dubiously, kissing the Kid again as he puts his hand on the Kid’s dick and wraps his fingers around it snugly. The Kid lets out a little gasp and moves against Dave, stroking him faster and more firmly. Dave continues kissing the Kid, and slowly moves his hand on the Kid’s dick, up and down with a little pause at the top of the stroke. 

After a few minutes, the Kid abruptly pulls away from the kiss and starts kissing Dave's chest, moving back and forth as he slowly works his way downward. Dave pets the top of the Kid’s head, stretching his arm to keep his hand on the Kid’s dick as long as he can, until he concedes defeat and brings that hand up to rest on the Kid’s head as well. The Kid keeps kissing down Dave’s stomach until his mouth is on Dave’s dick instead, slowly taking in more and more of it. Dave’s head tilts back against the pillow, and he lets out a slight moan. 

That seems to encourage the Kid, who keeps moving his mouth on Dave’s dick while one hand’s fingers move on Dave’s stomach. Dave keeps moving his hands over the Kid’s head, occasionally snagging some of the Kid’s hair with one finger. “That’s good,” Dave says quietly. “So good.”

The Kid moves faster, the hand around the base of Dave’s dick moving slightly too, and Dave fights to keep his hips from jerking and pushing his dick deeper into the Kid’s mouth. Dave’s hands are still on the Kid’s head, barely moving, and Dave loses track of time again, but this time in a much more enjoyable way. He tightens his hands in the Kid’s hair as he can feel his breathing speed up, and the Kid makes some enthusiastic-seeming noises. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Dave chants suddenly, and he shakes a little before he comes in the Kid’s mouth, with no other warning. The Kid keeps his mouth on Dave’s dick for another few moments before he kisses a path back up to Dave’s mouth, and as the Kid kisses him, Dave reaches for the Kid’s dick, resuming the same stroking from before. 

They keep kissing while Dave strokes the Kid faster, his fingers a little tighter around the Kid’s dick, and he puts his other hand back on the Kid’s head, this time resting on the back of it. It doesn’t take that long, or it doesn’t feel like long to Dave, before the Kid starts to whimper and then gasp as he comes in Dave’s hand, still kissing Dave. Dave pulls away from the kiss slowly, moving his hand at the same time. 

“We should both sleep,” he says quietly but firmly, wiping his hand on the sheets. 

“Okay,” the Kid replies. “That was okay?”

“That was definitely good.”

“Yes,” the Kid agrees. He reaches for Dave, putting his hand on the back of Dave’s neck and pulling him down against the Kid’s chest. Dave lets the Kid guide his head and he closes his eyes. The Kid runs his fingers gently through Dave’s hair. 

“Good night,” Dave says quietly. The Kid’s fingers are still moving when Dave drifts off to sleep. 

 

Dave sleeps well, but he does wake early, just when the sun is rising, and he shakes the Kid awake gently. None of the five of them say much, even Jaydon, while they gather more clothes. Some of the clothes fit Jade, and Dave does a final look through the kitchen before they climb into the truck and get back on US-30. They go about a mile before the Kid distributes bottled water and granola bars, which they also eat in silence. The Mississippi River isn’t far, Dave remembers, and after a few miles, he slows the truck, then stops it. 

“Holy shit,” Dave says, staring at the remains of the bridge over the Mississippi, which looks as if it were bombed. When Dave looks across the river, that’s what the city there looks like, too, and Dave turns south without waiting for the Kid to get out the map. They have to find a bridge, somewhere. “We’re on state road 84 now,” he says after a few minutes pass. 

The Kid looks at his map for a few minutes more before saying anything. “There’s another bridge at I-80,” he finally says. “It’s a way down.”

“Guess we’re going to I-80,” Dave says almost grimly. He increases his speed after the first three or four miles, the road eerily deserted of cars, wrecks, zombies, or bodies. The river has plenty of bodies in it, though, and Dave tries not to look to his right more than necessary. It takes about thirty minutes of silence to get down to I-80, but the bridge there is blocked with a tank and wrecks of cars going one direction. The other direction isn’t any better, barricaded and wrecked cars combined with one lane that appears to have just disappeared. 

“I-74,” the Kid says quietly. 

“Right,” Dave agrees, nodding, driving back onto the state road and following it for another ten minutes before turning right. They drive through a town, and Dave suspects if they turned off their new road, they’d find huge groups of zombies roaming around. The bridge at I-74 is completely gone; it looks as if at least three bombs were dropped near where it was. The Kid squeezes Dave’s leg, which is when Dave realizes Kid’s hand is even on his leg.

“I-280?” the Kid says, sounding more uncertain now.

“Can’t hurt.” Dave sighs and drives alongside the river. They pass two smaller bridges on the way to I-280, both of them barricaded and covered in wrecked cars. 

“Mama?” Jaydon calls out in an anxious tone.

“Shh, baby,” Jade whispers. “Quiet time.”

Dave steers the truck onto I-280, towards the bridge, but when they get there, it’s barricaded, zombies milling about on the other side of the barricade. In the eastbound lanes, most of the zombies are pushing against the barricades, trying to get to the ones in the westbound lanes. Dave has to look away as soon as he realizes that the zombies are climbing on top of other zombies, and he turns the truck around, heading back off I-280. 

“Maybe there’s a smaller town,” Dave says, trying to convince himself as well. 

The Kid nods silently, looking down at the map again and tracing a finger along the river, but he doesn’t suggest a route across. Dave keeps driving south, the river to his right, through a wildlife area, and he starts to wonder if they’re ever going to see another bridge again. 

“Oh,” Dave says quietly, a good thirty minutes after they passed the I-280 bridge. “I think…” he trails off, staring at the bridge that is in front of them, after winding through trees. 

“It’s _clear_ ,” the Kid whispers, almost reverently. 

“Yeah,” Dave agrees, nodding, and he can’t help increasing his speed as the truck rolls onto it. The bridge stays clear, and when they reach the other side and the guardrail ends, Dave pulls into the open grassy hill to his right. 

He parks the truck and gets out, leaning on the hood and waiting until he hears someone else, or multiple people, climb out of the truck. “Kid?” he says without looking behind him, and he swallows a little. “I need something.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Day 11**

Dave parks the truck and climbs out, not closing the door behind him as he leans against the hood, eyes closed. The Kid slips out of the truck to stand beside Dave, who doesn't turn to look at the Kid or even really seem to register he's there. Dave looks exhausted, hollow. 

Finally, Dave says, “Kid? I need something.” 

“I know,” the Kid replies. He takes Dave’s face in both his hands, tilting it towards him, then leans forward and kisses Dave, a slow, deep kiss. The Kid doesn’t pull away, even when his lips leave Dave’s, and he says, “We made it across. We’re alive. We’re both okay.”

Dave nods, his eyes closing, like he doesn’t really comprehend the words, and he stays perfectly still for a long time before straightening and looking at the Kid. “We should go?”

“We can stop for a little while,” the Kid says. He reaches back into for a bottle of water, opens it, and hands it to Dave. “Drink some water.”

Dave frowns at the first sentence, then drinks the bottle in one gulp before crushing it in his hand and dropping it. “Middle of a town.”

“Empty town," the Kid says. "You can stay out here a little while, if you need to. If anything comes, I'll shoot it." He puts his hand on the small of Dave’s back and moves it in a small, slow circle. 

“Wonder why it’s so empty,” Dave says after a minute. “Maybe they all went north.” 

“Maybe so. Maybe the went north along the river,” the Kid says. “Do you want to walk around a little bit?”

“Nah.” Dave puts one palm flat on the hood of the truck. “What state is this?”

“Iowa. If we build it, he will come.”

“I never wanted to visit Iowa,” Dave says. “And here I am anyway.”

“It’s only a visit if we stop to sightsee,” the Kid says. “We aren’t stopping to sightsee, are we?”

“Should be a thing,” Dave says almost absently. “Zombie sightseeing tour.” 

The Kid reaches into pocket and finds one of the lollipops from the barn, however many days ago that was. He presses it into Dave’s hand. “Here. Eat that.”

“Hmm?” Dave says absently, unwrapping it and sticking it in the side of his mouth. The Kid keeps moving the hand on Dave’s back in a slow circle for a few more minutes. He can hear the doors on the other side of the truck open and close, but nobody comes around to talk to them. 

“I think we can put most of Iowa behind us before we have to stop for the night,” the Kid says. “If it stays clear and we can find our way back up to 30, at least. We’ll need to stop at a gas station to find better maps, though.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Dave agrees, straightening. “This town’s kind of creepy.” 

“That’s just because we’re parked on a hill called the Mark Twain Overlook,” the Kid says. 

“Now it’s like sightseeing,” Dave complains, and he walks to the door of the truck. “Time to go, then.” 

“Okay,” the Kid agrees. He walks around the back of the truck, where Jaydon and Az are apparently having a peeing for distance contest. “Um, time to go.”

“A’ight,” Az says, zipping up his pants. “You done, little bro?”

“I peed!” Jaydon announces proudly. 

“That’s... good,” the Kid says. “Now you and Az should get your mom and get back in the truck.”

“Okay, Kid,” Jaydon says. “C’mon, Az.” He takes Az by the hand, which the Kid is sure probably isn’t very sanitary considering the peeing contest, and pulls him back towards the front of the truck. 

The Kid walks back around to the driver’s side, where Dave is still waiting, and climbs into the truck. Jade is already leaning across the seat to fasten Jaydon’s buckle, Az in the back squirting hand sanitizer into his palms. When he sees the Kid looking at him, he says, “Jade’s idea.”

“Jade is smart,” the Kid says.

“Miracle worker,” Dave mutters, sounding amused as he climbs into driver’s seat and shuts the door. 

“So, since we don’t have a map yet, we’ll just have to figure out where to go,” the Kid says. “We should have gotten an Iowa map before. The last gas station I went in didn’t have Iowa, and we didn’t go into the last one. Maybe just go right here, since it’s at least a little bit north?”

“Yeah, okay,” Dave agrees. He starts the truck and does that, driving slower than he was earlier in the morning, while they were still on the other side of the Mississippi.

“Next gas station, we’ll stop and I’ll go in for a map,” the Kid says. “My fault for not doing it at the last one.”

“No one wants a map of Iowa unless they have to,” Dave says. 

“Well, we have to, and we had to then, too, but I didn’t think about it,” the Kid says. 

“Denial,” Dave says, nodding slowly and looking unperturbed. 

“Looks like something just up there,” Jade says, pointing at an upcoming intersection. 

Dave nods again and turns the truck into the lot when they approach. The Kid unholsters his gun, and as soon as Dave parks, the Kid nods at Jade, who opens the door, the revolver drawn and held by her side.

“Remember, close, but not too close,” the Kid says to her. “Dave, ax?”

“Yeah,” Dave says after a moment, getting out with the ax in his hand. The Kid tries the door; it’s locked, so he steps back and nods at Dave, who shrugs. “Ax or window?”

The Kid looks at the store, trying to gauge if there are zombies inside, but then, they couldn’t see them last time, either. “Either. Ax is noisier, window’s... more surprising?”

Dave shrugs again and hefts the ax, judging the door before gesturing for the Kid and Jade to step back. He whacks the lock twice before the door swings open slightly, and Dave puts down the arm with the ax and pushes the door open more widely. 

The Kid takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll be right back. Anything else we need besides maps?”

“Not that I can think of. Jade?”

“If there’s any decent-looking food?” Jade says. 

The Kid nods and walks through the door into the gas station. Luckily, this one doesn’t seem to be full of zombies, and the Kid quickly grabs an assortment of maps, plus any of the non-perishable food that looks remotely edible, piling them into the front of his shirt, which he folds up like a pouch. On his way through the aisles, he passes by a small display of condoms. He glances up towards the door, then down at the aisle, then grabs a box and pockets it. 

“Anything in there?” Dave calls. 

“Out in just a second!” the Kid calls back, his voice cracking a little as he makes sure the box of condoms is shoved far down in his pocket. He hurries back to the front with his full shirt-pouch. “Okay, done.”

“Anything else?” Dave asks, looking around the parking lot. 

“No, unless we need more gas, we can go. We should probably hurry and go,” the Kid says. 

“We can eat on the road?” Jade asks. 

“Here,” the Kid says, holding out his shirt and gesturing at it with his head. Jade retrieves several of the plastic-lidded cans of Dinty Moore stew from the Kid’s shirt.

“We should go back in and get the water, if there's any left,” Jade says. “It’s going fast.”

“Water looked cleared out. Gatorade, too, and the juice is probably hinky by now,” the Kid says. “We’ll find some at the next stop.”

Jade nods, and the three of them walk back to the truck. The Kid dumps the rest of his shirt-load—minus the maps—into a bin in the back, frowning at how depleted the water supply looks. He pulls out another six pack of bottled water and brings it up to the cab with him. Once they’re all inside, the Kid spreads the map of Iowa out on his lap, running one index finger west along 30, keeping his other index finger on the small town of Muscatine where they’re currently parked. 

“Turn left when you get to Park Avenue. It’s 38 and will take us north to 6,” the Kid says. “Then we can decide from there is we’re turning onto 6 for a while or staying on 38 all the way up. It’s pretty far.”

“Came pretty far down, I guess,” Dave says with a shrug, but he nods and starts looking slightly more to his left. 

“Yeah,” the Kid agrees. “I could find another route to Nebraska, if you want. Straighter shot?”

“30’s nice and empty, though,” Dave remarks.

“Okay,” the Kid says. He folds the map up partially, leaving just the section of Iowa they’ll be driving through exposed, and puts his hand on Dave’s leg. After just a moment, though, he moves it again, leaning down to get a bottle of water to hand to Dave. Dave drinks it in three gulps, then hands the empty bottle back to the Kid with a slight smile. 

“Anybody hungry?” Jade asks. “I was going to fix something for Jaydon.”

Dave shakes his head. “I can wait another half-hour or so.”

“Toss me back a container of something,” Az says. Jade turns and gives him a hard stare, and after a few beats, Az says, “I mean, _please_ toss me back a container of something.”

“Magic word,” Jaydon says, sounding serious.

Dave makes the left turn and then turns his head very slightly towards Jaydon. “You know any other magic words?”

“Abracadabra,” Jaydon replies, in the same serious voice. “Shazam!”

“Do you think they’ll get us where we’re going faster?” Dave asks, equally serious. 

“Makes you a-bisible,” Jaydon says. “Uh-oh! Where’s Dave?”

“Shh,” Dave whispers, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh. “Don’t tell the rest of them I’m still right here, Jaydon.”

“Shh,” Jaydon whispers back, starting to giggle. “Shh, Dave.”

“Oh no!” Jade suddenly exclaims. “Who’s driving this truck?”

Dave grins silently, then removes one hand from the wheel to give Jaydon a thumbs-up. “Bibbity-bobbity-boo, now you bisible!” Jaydon announces.

“Sorry about the technical malfunction,” Dave says lightly to Jade. 

“Oh, praise Jesus, the ghost driver’s gone now!” Jade says. 

“We’re even better than the Haunted Mansion,” Dave says, then turns to the Kid. “You said 6 or 38?”

“Right. 6 or 38,” the Kid says. “Now that you’re not an invisible ghost.”

“Let’s take a vote,” Dave proposes.

“Oh, are we all of a sudden a democracy again?” Az asks. “I thought we were the Truck Republic of Davistan.”

“It’s important to maintain the guise of democratic systems in a dictatorship,” Dave says. 

“Then I vote for 38,” Az says. “One road the whole way up, keep it as simple as possible. Besides, 38’s been nice and clear, so I say it’s lucky.”

“If we stay on 38, we’ll have to go west across I-80,” the Kid says. 

“Then I vote for 6,” Az replies cheerfully. “Good ol’ 6.”

“This is why it’s not actually a democracy, because you change your mind,” Dave says dryly.

“I wasn’t working off all the information,” Az protests.

“You weren’t working off a full deck, is what,” Jade mutters.

“Maybe it’s time for a snack after all,” Dave says quietly to the Kid. “For Az’s mouth.” 

“What? What was that?” Az asks, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the seat back. “What about my mouth?”

“I didn’t say anything about a mouth,” Dave says smoothly. “You must have misheard.”

“Mmhmm. I see how it is,” Az says, settling back against his seat. 

“Here.” Jade tosses one of the plastic-lidded cans of stew back to Az. “Enjoy. _Hush_ and enjoy.”

“Those might be wise words for the zombie world,” Dave says. “Hush and enjoy. Well, enjoy things, not the overall world.”

“Mmhmm,” Az repeats, under his breath this time. 

“Okay, here’s 6,” the Kid says, pointing to the left. “Do you want some stew?”

Dave nods at the first sentence, turning left with his turn signal on appropriately, and then he frowns slightly. “Yeah, guess I should eat while it’s clear,” he agrees. The Kid nods, accepting a can from Jade and popping the top, handing it to Dave with a plastic spoon. Dave eats it methodically as he drives, then hands the empty can back to the Kid, the spoon clattering a little in it. 

“This has _got_ to be the most boring countryside I have ever driven through,” Jade says. “I think we passed the same three trees about a dozen times now.”

“Cows and corn,” Jaydon says soberly. “Corn and cows.”

“That’s right,” Jade agrees. “Corn, cows, and exactly three trees. I think we’re driving in a circle.”

“I think Iowa’s just that boring,” Dave says with a small frown.

“More cows. More corn.” Jaydon nods to himself. “More zombies.”

“Good thing cows can’t be zombies,” Dave mutters.

“Five zombies. Ten zombies. A hundred zombies,” Jaydon says, tapping his finger against the window glass. “One, two, three, four, five, ten, a hundred.”

Jade turns her head sharply to look out the window. “He’s not wrong,” she says. “I think you might want to drive a little bit faster, Dave.”

Dave nods and the truck starts to speed up, Dave’s hands tight on the wheel. Jaydon continues tapping on the window.

“Mama, they runnin’ fast!” Jaydon taps on the window again. “Bye, zombies! No bashin’ stick!”

“Worth shooting?” Dave asks the Kid out of the corner of his mouth. 

The Kid looks behind him, through the rear window. “They’re fast, but they’re not that fast,” he says, after a few seconds of watching.

“Okay.” Dave nods and keeps driving, the truck speeding up just slightly.

“We’re fine. We’re fine,” the Kid says softly. “They’re far behind us now.”

“Everything’s far behind us now,” Dave says after a few minutes. The Kid nods silently; he can’t exactly argue with that.

As they continue along 6, nobody talks, not even Jaydon, who eats his can of stew quietly, swinging his feet and occasionally offering Az a spoonful of spoon. Az shakes his head in refusal, but doesn’t offer any commentary. They turn right onto X54, which eventually joins back up with 38 at I-80, which they pass over with no trouble. 

“We’ll be back on 30 in about fifteen miles,” the Kid says. “Should I start looking for a stopping point, or should we just go until it gets close to sunset?”

“We’ll just keep going,” Dave says, in a tone closer to grim than decisive.

“Okay. I’ll just keep track of where we are on the map, keep stops in mind while we keep moving,” the Kid says. He hands Dave anther bottle of water. “Drink.”

“Okay,” Dave agrees, then takes the water and drinks it quickly before handing the bottle back to the Kid. 

“We’ll pass through the suburbs of Cedar Rapids. We probably shouldn’t stop there.”

“No.” Dave shakes his head. “At least it’s not a downtown.”

“Only large city for miles and miles, though. Could still be bad. I can find a way even farther around if you want,” the Kid offers. Dave shakes his head quickly. “Okay. We’ll just be ready, in case.”

“Cedar Rapids is just a blip. We’ll be fine,” Az says, a little too staunchly. He repeats, “We’ll be fine.” 

“Right,” the Kid agrees, probably also a little too staunchly, but he’s lost his ability to gauge things like that, if he ever had that ability to begin with. “We’ll be fine.” Dave nods this time, still silent, and continues driving. 

They _are_ fine, for a while anyway. They’re fine for the twenty miles up to 30, fine while Jaydon sings a version of ‘Old McDonald’ where Old McDonald only has cows, zombies, and corn on his farm, fine when Az suggests that the corn on the farm goes “pop, pop, pop.” They’re fine through another round of water bottles being distributed, and they’re fine when the Kid has had all of the popping and mooing and zombie groans and distributes candy to all passengers of the truck. 

Dave’s hands barely leave the wheel the entire time, though, except for drinking water and eating his candy. When they finally do make the turn onto 30—which Az declares “home, sweet home”—they’re all still fine, passing the tiny towns of Stanwood, Mechanicsville, Lisbon, and Mt. Vernon without seeing more than a lone slow here or there in a field, slowly shuffling westward. 

“Maybe most of the zombies out here ended up out by the Mississippi,” Jade says. “Maybe they got blown up or burned up, and that’s where they all went.”

“Wish we knew what made them go one or another,” Dave says, shaking his head. “Zombie forecasting.”

“You’d think that the bigger the town, the more zombies, but I guess zombies don’t work like that,” Jade says, shaking her head. 

“Maybe you’re onto something, though,” Dave says after a moment. “Maybe they go to the water for some reason. Which means Nebraska should be a good place.” 

“Nebraska’s gonna be great,” Az says. “My uncle and aunt have a generator, and we can have hot showers and hot meals, and probably some kind of Mormon gun tower with guard-Mormons on it.” 

“But no chocolate or coffee,” Dave says. “I guess Mormons figure if you survive the apocalypse, you should sleep a lot.”

“I already told you my uncle doesn’t buy into that no coffee bullshit,” Az insists. “I bet they got Folger’s crystals, at least.”

“We have instant coffee,” the Kid adds.

“I want coffee!” Jaydon announces.

“No way are you drinking coffee until you’re at least twelve,” Jade counters. “It’ll stunt your growth.”

“It doesn’t really,” the Kid says.

“Oh yeah? You seen yourself lately?” Jade asks. “I bet you could’ve got another couple, two, three inches without the coffee.”

“See Dave? Now we know,” Az says. “He’s not a little person, he’s just a java junkie.”

“Are we on G.I. Joe now?” Dave asks. “Still, there could be Mormons there who aren’t your uncle. I just hope the guard-Mormons drink coffee.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Maybe we can just smuggle that sh—stuff in,” Az says. 

Dave appears to stifle a grin. “Jade, you’re a miracle worker.”

“All it took was one good whack,” Jade answers. “Would’ve done the trick for anybody.”

“Reverse brain damage.” Dave shrugs and then nods a little. “Makes sense.”

“Almost to Cedar Rapids,” the Kid says. Dave nods and his hands tighten a little on the wheel. Conversation in the truck comes to an abrupt halt, even Jaydon sitting quietly again. They pass some larger homes and a few farmhouses, then a golf course on the right as they enter Cedar Rapids. A few more nicer neighborhoods give way almost immediately to factories on the right, a huge trailer park on the left, and the Kid gets a cold, bad feeling in his stomach. “Can we drive really fast?” he asks softly, just barely loud enough for Dave to hear him.

Dave frowns and half-nods, increasing his speed but not as much as the Kid would like. They pass by factory after factory, and then things are suddenly not fine, not fine at all. Jade, the Kid, and Dave must all see it at the same time, because all three of them gasp.

“Oh my sweet good Lord,” Jade says. “Oh sweet Lord.”

“What?” Az asks. “What are you—oh. Oh, _fuck_. Fucking _fuck_. We’re fucked.”

Jade doesn’t correct Az’s language, because Az is one-hundred-percent correct. They are definitely fucked, because ahead of them, filling up the cloverleaf of 30 and I-380, are zombies, hundreds, hundreds _and_ hundreds, of zombies. 

“Zombies, Mama!” Jaydon says. “Get the stick!”

“Stick’s not gonna be much help right now, little bro,” Az says. “Fuck. Dave, can we turn around?”

“Turn around to where?” Dave asks tersely. “Into all those factories?”

“There’s not much around Cedar Rapids, roads-wise,” the Kid says. “I’m going in back.” 

“Too many,” Dave says, shaking his head. “Too much risk, no benefit.”

“Only way through is to clear a path,” the Kid insists. “I’m going back. Az can take the driver side, Jade can take the other.” He starts to climb over the seat into the back, and Dave grabs his shirt, pulling him back. 

“And you’re not gonna get that done from the back,” Dave says, stating it like a fact and not an opinion. 

“I’m the best shot,” the Kid argues. He shrugs away from Dave’s grip, twisting to get loose. “I need to be where I can shoot. Let me go.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Dave says, shaking his head. “Too much risk, no benefit.”

“They’ll swamp us! It’s great if Jade and Az can clear a path, but then what? They’ll just close in behind us!” the Kid yells. “Just drive as fast as you can. Jade, Az, shoot as many as you can.” He twists away from Dave and scrambles over the seat into the back, almost climbing across Az’s lap as he shoves the back window open. Before he climbs out, he says to Az, “I’ll hand ‘em in to reload.”

“Shit,” Az mutters. “Okay.” The Kid climbs through the window and into the truck bed, bracing himself against the cab as he stands. Dave keeps the truck moving forward towards the huge herd of zombies, who seem to finally notice the truck just as it’s about to enter the swarming mass of partially-desiccated bodies. 

Az and Jade start firing out the windows and the zombies begin to swarm towards the truck, and as the truck rolls into the zombie herd, the Kid begins to fire at the zombies reaching for the truck bed’s sides and tailgate as they close in behind the truck. Even though Dave keeps the truck moving at a surprisingly steady rate of speed, the sheer number of zombies means they’re engulfed, surrounded, rotting faces and dead eyes and shriveled hands grabbing at the truck’s exterior. The Kid empties his clip, handing the gun in to Az, who passes out another handgun in between firing the rifle out the driver’s side window.

The truck lurches, tossing the Kid sideways, as the wheels roll over a fallen zombie. The Kid barely has time to bring the gun back up, hands already grabbing at his arm. He fires and the hands fall away, the truck speeds up again, and while the forward motion isn’t fast, it’s consistent. They keep moving forward while the herd mills around in place, and finally, _finally_ , Dave reaches the edge of the herd and guns it. The Kid crouches low in the truck bed and keeps firing at the zombies following them, until only two are left, still clinging to the tailgate. The Kid hands his empty gun in to Az, who returns the Kid’s reloaded pistol, and then the Kid puts a bullet into those two zombies’ heads. They fall to the blacktop, leaving the truck free and clear. 

The Kid sits in the lawn chair for a few breaths before handing his pistol back in to Az and then climbing through the window and back up into the front seat, putting a hand behind him for the gun. Az closes the window, cutting off the noise from outside, and the Kid holsters his gun.

“See? We’re fine. I needed to be back there,” the Kid says. 

“Fact that we’re fine doesn’t prove you needed to be back there,” Dave says almost flatly.

“No, the fact that I shot over a dozen zombies that were climbing up into the truck bed proves I needed to be back there,” the Kid snaps back at Dave. “We still had two hanging on, even after you were out of the herd. I’m not stupid. I know what I’m doing!”

“Didn’t say you were stupid. But so what? They wouldn’t have hung on forever,” Dave says, shaking his head and continuing to frown. 

“You’re right. They’d have climbed into the truck bed,” the Kid says. “Or swamped the truck altogether and you wouldn’t have even _made_ it out of that herd.”

“Neither one of us knows what would have happened for sure,” Dave says after a moment. “We just don’t know.”

“ _I_ know,” the Kid insists. “You needed me back there. Now we’re past them, and we’re fine, everybody’s fine, because you had three sides covered!”

“Nope, you don’t know.” Dave shakes his head. “‘Cause we’re not fortune tellers.” He scowls and the truck speeds up a little more. 

“I understand basic tactics. I know where I needed to be. I was in the right place,” the Kid says. 

Dave shakes his head again and shrugs, not responding verbally. The Kid huffs through his clenched teeth in anger and frustration, slumping down in the seat before clicking his seatbelt back on, refusing to look over at Dave. The Kid knows he was right. Dave didn’t see it, how many of them were behind them, though the Kid suspects Dave might still insist there was no need for the Kid to be back there. 

“I know what I’m doing,” the Kid he mutters, not caring if Dave hears him or not. He crosses his arms over his chest and glares ahead, through the windshield and at the now-empty countryside ahead of them. Dave doesn't say anything else or even glance over, which is fine, because the Kid doesn't want him to. Not much, anyway.

They drive in silence for close to an hour, when Dave pulls off into a gas station in Toledo, Iowa, which doesn't seem funny anymore. Dave and Az siphon gas, the Kid loots the little shop for what little is left, and Jade keeps watch. They fill a few extra gas cans the Kid finds inside the shop, then set those in the lawn chair in back. The Kid looks at the gas cans with some small amount of envy, because at this point, he'd just as soon be back in the truck bed and a person of suspicion than in the cab with Dave and his sullen driving and thinking he knows everything.

He doesn't sit in the truck bed, though. He slides back into his spot in the front seat, between Dave and Jade. After another silent half-hour, Jaydon tries singing Old McDonald again, but since this time it's just corn, corn, corn, he gives it a rest after a half-a-dozen repetitions. The Kid rewards him with a lollipop. He doesn't give Dave one this time.

After another two hours, just over three out from Cedar Rapids, with the sun starts to sink closer and closer to the horizon, Jade clears her throat, then asks, "Dave, you stopping anytime soon?"

“Guess it is close to dinnertime,” Dave says, nodding slightly. “I’ll see if I spot a place.” 

"I gotta pee!" Jaydon declares. 

"Yeah, me too," Az says. "Dave, we both of us gotta pee."

“Any towns to avoid stopping for the night in?” Dave says, shaking his head towards Az. 

"I can't say for sure, since I apparently don't know what I'm doing," the Kid says, handing the map over to Jade. "I'm just here to shoot and crawl through windows."

“So I guess next time we stop at a gas station, I’ll just wait for it to fill the tank on its own,” Dave says thoughtfully. “Makes perfect sense.”

"Do whatever you want. If the truck runs out of gas, I can walk. I'm good at walking, too," the Kid says, not looking over at Dave as he speaks.

"Uh-oh, trouble in paradise," Az says. "It's like a second apocalypse."

"Az, shut up," Jade says, still staring down at the map. "You should probably stop before Denison, way I see it."

“Got it,” Dave says, nodding towards Jade. He slows the truck down after another few moments, passing the still mostly corn on either side with a little more interest. 

"I gotta peeeeeee," Jaydon says again, a little sing-songy. "Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta peeeee!"

“I see some trees,” Dave says to Jaydon. “You think there’s a house near the trees?” 

"Pee on the tree, pee on the tree," Jaydon continues to sing.

Dave slows the truck even more as the trees get closer, and he turns into the nearest driveway, heading towards the houses at the end of it. “As long as there’s no zombies in here, we’re good,” he says, parking the truck out of sight of 30.

"So, should we even check the door or just go ahead and find a window to boost your Kid in?" Az asks, laughing to himself like he's just so funny.

“Odds say we get unlocked sometime, right?” Dave says, climbing out and picking up his gun. The Kid unholsters his gun and gets out behind Dave, watching Jade exit on the other side and help Az unbuckle Jaydon. 

The Kid follows Dave to the door, staying a few feet behind him as Dave tries the knob. The knob turns, and Dave slowly pushes the door open, staring into the house. The Kid thinks they should probably clear the house first, but Dave doesn't say anything to that effect, so the Kid doesn't say anything either.

“See?” Dave says over his shoulder to Az. “Unlocked.”

"Obviously our lucky day," Az retorts, helping Jaydon down from the truck. "Let's go find this kid a toilet before he pees himself."

“Or on you,” Dave says. He steps into the house and his hand goes halfway to the light switch before it stops and Dave shakes his head irritably. “Try down the hall,” he says to Az and Jaydon, gesturing to his left.

Az, Jaydon, and Jade walk by Dave, into the dark hallway. Dave goes to the window and opens the curtains, which doesn’t make it that much brighter in the house. Dave turns and looks around the room for a moment, stepping towards the middle of the room with his gun pointed at the floor. There’s a rustling sound that doesn’t seem to bother Dave, but seconds later, the open doorway to another room, probably the kitchen, has a zombie coming through it. 

Before Dave even brings his gun up, the Kid fires, and he keeps firing for far longer than necessary, probably, putting at least five rounds into the zombie's head as it falls. Once the zombie is on the ground, the Kid puts one more bullet into its head, even though it isn't moving, then he walks over to its body, standing over it to look into the otherwise empty kitchen.

“Well, that was a lot of ammo,” Dave says after a few beats. “Guess that zombie just wanted a sandwich.”

The Kid slowly pivots to look at Dave, and without looking away from Dave's face, fires one more round into the extremely dead zombie. Dave rolls his eyes and then takes a step towards the hall. 

“You three find anything?” he calls. 

"What was that?" Az shouts back. "I about pissed myself! Ow, woman! Pissed isn't even a swear word!"

“Was is the right word,” Dave says. “If you’re done with pissing, though, we should unload.”

“Might gotta unload a change of pants,” Az mutters as he comes traipsing down the hallway without Jade and Jaydon. He stops in the living room and looks at the dead zombie, then cranes his neck and squints, like he’s trying to peer into the kitchen. “How many were in here?”

“One,” Dave says. “It’s very, very dead.”

“But I thought I heard—” Az stops abruptly when he looks over at the Kid. “You know what? I don’t wanna know. Jade’s got Jaydon back in one of the bedroom. They found some books. No zombies.” 

“We should take any books that he really likes,” Dave says to Az. “Let’s go bring some clothes and food in, at least.”

“Sound good. I could eat,” Az says. “But shit, I can always eat.” He glances over his shoulder and then chants, “Fuck, fuck, motherfucker, shit, shit, bitch. There. I was getting all stopped up.”

Dave snorts. “Get up before Jaydon in the morning and let some fly?” he suggests, walking towards the door. 

Az laughs. “More like get up before Jade,” he says, following Dave. The Kid follows behind Az, holstering his gun as he goes. Dave goes to the truck bed and sets down a few of the bins, looking through others before leaving them in the bed. He hands one directly to Az, then goes back to setting them on the ground. 

“Think that’s it,” he says after a minute. “Time for a nice cold dinner.”

“They’ve got a fireplace,” Az says. “We could start a fire. Well, _you_ could start a fire.”

“Do we have anything easy to cook over a fire?” Dave asks. 

“Vienna sausages,” Az offers. He grins at Dave and adds, “Bitch.”

“Guess you’d better find us some sticks, then,” Dave says. 

The Kid snorts derisively as he picks up one of the bins. Dave looks over at him briefly and then shrugs without speaking. The Kid stacks a second bin on top of the one in his arms, and huffs loudly. 

“Water’s in the bin next to you,” Dave says to Az. The Kid snorts again as he passes by them with his bins.

“I think your Kid wants something,” Az says.

“Pretty sure he’s just expressing his opinion,” Dave says flatly.

“I just don’t see the point in staying in a house hidden by trees if you’re going to make a fire and send up a big plume of smoke,” the Kid says. 

“Personally, I’d think fire meant a bigger group,” Dave says after a moment. “And it’s not really hidden.” He stops with bins in his hands. “I do miss trees.”

“Fine,” the Kid huffs, then carries his bins through the door, setting them down in the living room. When he turns around, Az is behind him with his own stack of bins.

“Cut him some slack,” Az says as he set the bins down.

“He should cut _me_ some slack,” the Kid grumbles back, “instead of acting like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Not really sure that’s what’s going on,” Az replies. He shrugs. “I’ve known Dave a long-ass time, a really fucking long-ass time, and I don’t think he’s doing what you think he’s doing. I think he was thinking he didn’t want his new boyfriend getting eaten by zombies and that’s about as far as it went.”

“Yeah, because if they’d swamped the truck, none of us would have been eaten, right?” the Kid says. “Whatever. I don’t need him to say whether or not I did the right thing. I don’t need him for anything.”

Az shakes his head and lets out a long, dramatic-sounding sigh. “You two dumbfucks are gonna screw it up before we ever make it to Nebraska.” With that, he wanders back out of the living room and down the hallway. The Kid scowls after him, for all the good it does, then settles on giving the dead zombie a good, hard kick instead. 

Dave walks in and sets his bins down, then gives the Kid and the zombie an odd look. “Zombie soccer,” he says, almost to himself. The Kid turns his scowl on Dave and kicks the zombie again before turning and stomping into the kitchen. He can hear the sound of scraping and then the door opening and closing a final time, along with a thump outside. 

“Oh, did somebody take our corpse throw-rug out?” Az asks, walking into the kitchen. The Kid shrugs and starts opening the cabinets, looking for canned or jarred food. “Jade says she thinks we need some plants in this meal. Look for some peas or green beans or something, any kind of stuff a little kid eats.”

“I don’t know what little kids eat,” the Kid says.

“Well, then look for stuff that comes in small pieces. I’m gonna get Dave to make me a fire.”

“Fine,” the Kid says. He sorts out some canned vegetables, setting aside carrots and a can of English peas. Dave walks into the kitchen and looks at the cans without comment, looking through the cabinets before leaving the kitchen equally silently. It happens again one more time before anyone else speaks loudly in the house or comes into the kitchen. 

From the living room, the Kid can hear Az start swearing, which means he’s probably cooking over the fire, then yell “Ow!” which means Jade probably hit him with something for swearing. It’s almost homey-feeling, except for Dave coming in and out of the kitchen to rearrange things or stare at the insides of cabinets. 

“Do you need something?” the Kid finally asks Dave, when he comes in for the fourth time.

“Hmm?” Dave turns around and then shakes his head. “No. Just wish they’d left a big ceramic bowl or something,” he says, almost like he’s talking to himself. 

“Cabinet over the fridge,” the Kid suggests. “That’s where we—where _I_ would keep it, if I had one.”

Dave looks at the cabinet over the refrigerator and then shrugs, opening it up. “Huh.” He pulls out a long-handled basket. “Well, we can have popcorn!” he says, looking almost excited by the prospect. “Weird they have this and not a bowl.” He shrugs again, going back to examining the basket. “Popcorn tonight!”

The Kid turns back to his stack of cans, not sure if he’s supposed to be excited about the idea of popcorn or not, and finally deciding that he’s not going to be excited about it, whether he’s expected to be or not, because if his judgment is suspect where zombies are concerned, why should it be important where popcorn is concerned? He opens a can of carrots and dumps them into a small pot, walking around Dave without talking to him to carry the pot into the living room. Az is crouched by the fireplace, poking the fire with a stick, and Jade and Jaydon are both sitting on the couch with a book.

“Does he eat carrots?” the Kid asks Jade.

“You can ask him questions directly, you know,” Jade says.

The Kid gives Jaydon a dubious look, but asks, “Do you eat carrots?”

“Yes! Five carrots,” Jaydon answers.

“They’re in a can,” the Kid clarifies. 

“Five can of carrots,” Jaydon agrees. 

“See?” Jade says. “He knows what he eats.”

“I only have one can of carrots, though,” the Kid says.

“He’ll make do,” Jade says.

“Okay,” the Kid says, then offers Az the pot. “Here’s Jaydon’s carrots. He says he eats carrots.”

“Too bad you didn’t find five cans,” Az says. He takes the pot from the Kid and sticks it into the fireplace. “We could see how many carrots he can really eat.”

“I bet the Mormons have more than five cans of carrots,” the Kid muses. 

“Hey, I bet that’s right!” Az says, then lowers his voice to stage-whisper, “We’ll have to get him away from his mom and see how many carrots we can feed him before he pukes.”

“I know you’re not talking about overfeeding my baby carrots as some kind of science experiment,” Jade says without glancing up from the book she’s looking at with Jaydon.

“I am hurt and wounded that you’d ever suggest I’d do such a thing!” Az says, putting his palm to his chest. “It would be ‘cause I was bored as fu—udge. Bored as fudge.”

“Uh-huh,” Jade replies. “You try it and see what happens.”

“I don’t think you should try it,” the Kid tells Az.

“Yeah, I don’t think I should, either,” Az says.

“Oh, I wish you would,” Jade says.

“Now, _that_ I believe,” Az mutters. He goes back to poking the fire. “I think everything’s gonna come out a little lopsided, in that half’s gonna be cold and the other half’s gonna be burnt as hell.”

The Kid grimaces, but says, “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” even if he isn’t. 

“Guess it’s gotta be, since that’s all there is,” Az reasons. “Almost done. We eating on the floor campout-style? Or at the table?”

“There’s zombie on the floor,” the Kid points out.

“Table it is, then,” Az says. 

“And popcorn,” Dave says from the doorway, holding up his gadget. “Popcorn after. Jaydon’ll have to be the movie.”

“I can perform a dramatic reenactment of the entire first season of _NCIS_ ,” Az offers.

“No way,” Jade says suddenly. “You’re kidding me.”

“Oh, believe me, he’s not kidding,” Dave says, shaking his head. “Except he can probably do the second season, too.” 

“Gibbs is the hottest thing on tv,” Jade declares.

“Silver goddamn fox!” Az agrees, and Jade must be really excited about _NCIS_ , because she doesn’t hit Az with anything or even glare at him for swearing. “Woman after my own heart!”

“Well, I don’t know about that. It’s just a matter of having refined tastes, is all,” Jade says.

“That’s what I keep telling Dave, but I guess he’s just not refined like you and me,” Az says.

“I want carrots,” Jaydon announces. 

“Carrots are better than Gibbs,” Dave agrees with Jaydon.

They all go into the kitchen, where Jade lights a candle from the mantel in the living room and sticks it in the center of the table, and they sit down and eat mostly cooked vienna sausages, half burnt carrots, and canned fruit cocktail. The Kid distributes bottled water, frowning at how few bottles remain. Az and Jade chatter at each other about _NCIS_ and the silver perfection of Mark Harmon throughout dinner, with Jaydon occasionally offering input that both Jade and Az seem to find surprisingly relevant. 

After everyone’s eaten, Dave stands at the sink and frowns out the window. “I don’t think I like Iowa,” he announces to the room at large. 

“Gotta agree that it’s my least favorite so far,” Az says. 

“At least we should get out of it tomorrow,” Dave says moodily.

“One state’s the same as another,” the Kid says, mostly to be contrary. Jade seems to understand that, too, because she crosses her arms and raises one eyebrow at him. “What?” he asks her.

“I see what you’re doing,” she says. “You should stop.”

“What?” the Kid repeats.

“You know what I mean. And I know exactly what you’re doing,” Jade says. 

“Time for popcorn,” Dave says suddenly. “Az, you remember how to use one of these better than I do?”

“Dave, I am the _king_ of popcorn!” Az says.

Dave snorts. “Let’s see it, then.”

“Watch and learn, Dave. Watch and learn.” Az gets up from the table and swaggers off towards the living room with Dave following him, leaving Jade, Jaydon, and the Kid at the table.

“It’s not going to work,” Jade says to the Kid, once Az and Dave are out of earshot.

“What’s not?” the Kid asks.

“What you’re doing. You think I don’t know?”

“I’m not doing anything!” the Kid insists.

“Uh-huh.” Jade shakes her head, then props her elbow up on the table, resting her head on her hand. “My dad was a mean drunk. Me and my mom used to poke at him to get him to blow up.”

The Kid glowers at Jade. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“Sure you don’t,” Jade agrees. “Just like you don’t know that it gets better after they blow up.”

“I don’t,” the Kid insists.

“It’s not going to work with Dave, though. You can keep on poking him, but I don’t think you’re going to get what you want,” Jade says. “But hey, that’s just a suggestion. You want the rest of this fruit cocktail?” The Kid shakes his head. “Good, ‘cause I’m eating it.”

“Popping it like a boss!” Az shouts in the other room.

“He’s charming,” Jade says, rolling her eyes.

“He’s not bad,” the Kid says. “Better than I thought at first. He stopped calling me a vagabond, so that’s nice.”

"The way we define nice these days," Jade says, shaking her head.

"Yeah," the Kid says. "New world, new rules."

"Exactly," Jade says, giving the Kid a hard look that he tells himself he doesn't understand what it means. He understands what it means, though.

"Popcorn's ready!" Az shouts.

"See? Not too bad," the Kid says.

"Kid, I'm not hooking up with the guy just because he can make popcorn and he's the only straight guy left in America."

"Might be the only straight guy left in the whole world," the Kid points out. "I mean, we don't really know."

"Then he'll be the loneliest straight guy in the world, and I'm still not hooking up with him," Jade says.

“Popcorn, you guys!” Dave calls from the living room. 

"He's not too bad, either," Jade says. "Quit trying to make him do something he's not going to do. You're just confusing him, and it's kind of pitiful."

The Kid frowns at Jade as she gets Jaydon down from his chair and directs him into the living room for popcorn. He keeps frowning as he follows them in and sits down on the floor, leaning back against the sofa.

Dave has a stack of bowls, presumably from his earlier forays into the kitchen cabinets, and he puts some popcorn in each bowl before distributing the bowls to everyone. “No butter, but still not bad,” he says as he works. 

"Thank you, Dave," Jade says, staring at the Kid as she says, "What do you say, Jaydon?"

"Thank you, Dave! Sit!" 

Dave laughs and picks up his own bowl. “Already am.”

"Good dog, Dave," Jaydon says.

"You got your own little fanclub," Az says. "What is it with you and tiny people?"

“My fanclub is bigger than yours,” Dave deadpans. 

"Yeah but my—" Az stops and grins at Jade. "Well, can't say it in front of short stack, but it's bigger than yours."

“Why can’t you say your shirt size?” Dave asks. 

"Maybe he means his shoes," Jade says. "Though, I think yours are bigger, Dave."

Dave chuckles and grins at Az, then eats a handful of popcorn. Az shakes his head in disgust or denial and shovels a handful of popcorn into his own mouth. Jaydon eats half his bowl, but then he must get bored, because he starts tossing popcorn, one piece at a time, in the Kid's direction.

"Jaydon, don't throw your food," Jade says.

"Sharing with Kid," Jaydon says, giving his mom big, innocent eyes. The next time Jade looks away, Jaydon resumes tossing his popcorn. After a few throws, the Kid opens his mouth, and Jaydon manages to get the next piece in. "Three points!" Jaydon exclaims.

"And now it's bedtime for you," Jade says, standing and scooping Jaydon up. He kicks and squeals, then goes limp, hanging off her arms like deadweight and grinning at everybody else. 

"You turning in, too?" Az asks.

"You don't do the cute innocent face as good as Jaydon, sorry," Jade says.

“He never has,” Dave offers. 

That makes Jade laugh as she heads out of the living room. "Night, you guys."

They answer with variations of goodnight, then Az declares, "I believe I'll go take an ice cold shower."

“Have fun,” Dave says to him, sounding almost chipper. 

"Yeah, yeah," Az says, waving his hand dismissively at Dave. "If I were having fun, I wouldn't need a cold shower."

Dave laughs. “Good luck with that.”

Az walks down the hall, presumably in the direction of the bathroom. The Kid looks around the living room at the bins, then back at the kitchen. He hasn’t even seen the rest of the house yet, but he can’t really muster any motivation to go look at the bedrooms or locate the bathrooms, so he keeps standing in the middle of the living room. Dave stacks the bowls and takes them into the kitchen, then comes back into the living room and picks up the popcorn basket. 

“Keeping this,” he says. The Kid just shrugs in response. Dave sets it on top of their other stuff, then starts to put out the fire. “Huh. Smoke detectors probably still work.”

“Hmm,” the Kid says. 

Dave keeps working on the fire, slowly putting it out. “Smoke detectors would go off, but there’s no one to call. No fire department.” He chuckles hollowly. “Get out and watch it burn, I guess.”

“Take the batteries out of the smoke detector if it bothers you,” the Kid says. If smoke detectors remind Dave that much of all the firefighters being zombies, taking out the batteries seems to make the most sense. Given the choice between death by zombies and death by smoke inhalation, the Kid would go with the smoke any day.

Dave gives the Kid a puzzled glance, then shakes his head. “Might forget to put them back in,” he mutters. “Wouldn’t be fair to the next people.”

“What next people? Who cares if the batteries are back in?” the Kid asks irritably. “The firefighters aren’t ever going to come, ever, and there’s no next people, either.”

“But smoke detectors are supposed to have batteries.” 

“Who cares? There’s no rules anymore. Nobody cares if the smoke detectors have batteries or not.” The Kid kicks the side of the nearest bin. “Waste of perfectly good batteries.”

“They have to have batteries,” Dave insists, standing up from the now-extinguished fire. “It’s not like we need them for a remote-control plane.”

“Flashlights, walkie-talkies, some other kind of small electronic device that might be useful, but nobody but you cares about smoke detectors!”

“Those don’t use nine-volts,” Dave says, almost patiently. “Flashlights are usually C or D, or those big camping lanterns with the really big batteries. And walkie-talkies are AA or AAA.”

“ _Anything_ that nine-volts can go in would be more useful than smoke detectors,” the Kid retorts. “Those smoke detectors are just going to sit in this house until the house burns down or falls down or rots, and no firefighters are ever coming, and nobody will ever come into this house again, and nobody will _ever_ care that you left those batteries here!”

“But I care,” Dave says, shrugging. “And we don’t need to burn to death.”

“We aren’t going to burn to death.”

“We could,” Dave insists. “I think the fire’s out, but there could be live sparks still.”

“We wouldn’t burn to death,” the Kid says again. “We’d die from smoke inhalation first.”

“Depends on how fast the fire moves, I guess.”

“Fire’s still better than zombies!” the Kid says, raising his voice. “And smoke’s better than either.”

“I didn’t realize it was a multiple-choice thing,” Dave says. “I’d pick D, none of the above.”

“You don’t act like you pick D!”

“Huh?”

“If you really didn’t want to die, you would’ve understood why I had to go in the back of the truck and shoot,” the Kid says. “You’d see that it was the only way to get out of there! But you didn’t, so I don’t think you really pick none of the above at all!”

“But that’d be…” Dave pauses. “B, I guess. I’m pretty damn sure I know whether I want to die or not.”

“B for _me_ , not for you!” the Kid yells. “You were in the truck! Even if the zombies _had_ gotten me, you and Az and Jade and Jaydon would’ve all gotten away. If we did it your way, maybe none of us would have! If we did it your way, it would be B for everybody!”

“I’m not picking different answers for different people,” Dave says, scowling. 

“Sometimes you have to. You have to!”

“No, I _don’t_.”

“Yes, you _do_!” the Kid insists. “You do. If you try to have it work out for everybody, every time, everybody’s just going to get equally dead.”

“ _No_ ,” Dave says stubbornly. “I’m not going to give in like that.”

“Give in to what? Reality?” the Kid asks. “Sometimes somebody’s going to get the bad end of the deal. It just works like that. If you let the one person deal with it, though, then not everybody has to get the bad end. It’s better for one person to die and everybody else to get out than for everybody to die.”

“That’s not reality, that’s pessimism,” Dave says, shaking his head. “I’m not going to think like that.”

“ _Pessimism?_ We’re living in a _zombie apocalypse_!”

“Exactly! If we get too pessimistic, why not _let_ the house burn down on purpose?” Dave throws up his hands. “We can’t look at dying in the next year as inevitable.”

“We can’t look at living as a guarantee, either,” the Kid replies. 

“But we have to act like we are going to live.”

“If you want to live, you have to make hard choices, and sometimes that means I go in the back of the truck to shoot so the rest of you can get out of there and _live_ ,” the Kid says, crossing his arms over his chest. “And if you don’t see that that’s true, I can’t make you see it, but it _is_ true, and _I_ was okay with it.”

“But I want _all_ of us to live. Not just me! You, too.”

“And Az, and Jade, and Jaydon,” the Kid says. “And you guys would have.”

“But you wouldn’t have.”

The Kid shrugs. “I never really expected to, anyway. I’m just glad it’s not Lima. I’m glad I got to meet you first. I don’t expect anything more than that.”

“Fine, but I expect more than that.”

“Don’t risk yourself to spare me, though,” the Kid says. “I’m not worth it.”

“I’ll decide who’s worth it for me,” Dave insists.

“Then why can’t I decide the same thing?” the Kid asks. “I decided it was worth it to me to get you out of there. If you get to decide for you, why don’t I get to decide for me?”

“Because I haven’t risked myself alone to spare anyone else! And you didn’t decide with anyone else what the best thing to do was, you just _did_ it, whether it was the best thing or not!”

“Because I don’t think you’re capable of sacrificing _anybody_! Even if it gets the rest of you out!”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing, because you’re a little _too_ eager to sacrifice yourself!”

“I’m not eager,” the Kid protests. “I just think... I just think better me than you.”

“And I’m saying, better neither of us. Don’t take risks you don’t _have_ to.”

The Kid sighs. “I think we have different definitions of ‘have to’.”

“You can’t decide on your own what the best tactic is. There was no discussion. There should have been.”

“Wasn’t enough time,” the Kid says. 

“Taking five or ten seconds wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Too late to know now,” the Kid says. “You think you’re right, I know I’m right, so there’s just not anything else to say about it.”

“But there’s got to be discussion if it happens again,” Dave insists.

“Fine,” the Kid says, more sharply than he actually intends. He walks over to the sofa and drops down onto it. 

“If you’re part of a group, you have to be part of a group,” Dave says, shrugging. 

“Fine,” the Kid repeats. “I can sleep out here. You can take whichever room you want.”

Dave rolls his eyes. “There’s not something you can do to make me change all of my opinions.” 

“I’m not trying to change anything. I’m trying to go to sleep.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure you are. Almost a tantrum. Why can’t we move past it?”

“It’s _not_ a tantrum,” the Kid insists, making a point of lying down on the lumpy sofa, fluffing the flat throw pillow with a loud huff.

“Umm…” Dave trails off. “Maybe it’s more of a tantrum than I thought.”

“It’s not.”

“You just huffed and then spread out horizontally.”

“I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” Dave agrees, nodding. “Probably tireder than the rest of us. But I don’t think that’s why you did that.”

“People lie down when they’re tired, and I’m tired, so I don’t see why it’s a tantrum,” the Kid says. 

“Huffing, for starters.” Dave shrugs. “I don’t know what you want me to do in reaction, but obviously I’m not doing it.”

“I don’t want you to do anything. You’re already too invested,” the Kid says. “We’ll be in Nebraska tomorrow.”

“I don’t know how any of those things are related.” 

“I’m not any good at this!” the Kid says, pointlessly fluffing the pillow again. “I’m good at shooting things and climbing through windows.”

“And those aren’t small things, not now,” Dave says, nodding a little. “But we’ve all had to learn new stuff.”

“I’m tired. I didn’t want zombies to eat you.” The Kid turns his face against the pillow and considers trying to see if he can smother himself to death by sheer force of will.

“Then let’s go find a bed and you can sleep, and no zombies are going to eat either of us.”

“What if they do?” the Kid asks, muffled by the pillow. 

“Then we’ll be dead, and we won’t know they are,” Dave says. “But I’m pretty sure that for tonight, at least, there aren’t even any around.”

“I’m just so tired,” the Kid says quietly. He’s not even sure if he says it loud enough for Dave to hear it. 

There’s the sound of Dave moving around, doing something, then his footsteps approach the couch, and he puts one hand on the Kid’s back. “C’mon,” he says quietly. “Time to go to sleep.”

The Kid nods. “Okay,” he says, sitting up. “Maybe it’s better, though. If I sleep out here. In the long run.” He looks down at his hands; they’re dirty. “For you.”

“C’mon,” Dave repeats, urging the Kid up onto his feet and then guiding him down the hall to a bedroom. Dave pulls the sheets down and gently pushes the Kid towards the bed. “Go to sleep.”

“I’m still wearing shoes.”

Dave shakes his head, pushing the Kid into a sitting position on the bed, and he removes the Kid’s shoes without further comment. “Now sleep,” he says as he stands. 

“What about you?” the Kid asks. 

“I’ll sleep in a few minutes. Give me just about ten minutes, okay?”

“Okay.” The Kid lies down, eyes open. “I’ll wait.”

“Don’t worry about it, you can go on and sleep,” Dave says, standing in the doorway. “Close your eyes.”

“I’ll wait,” the Kid repeats. Dave shakes his head and leaves the room, heading down the hall. The Kid keeps his eyes on the door, waiting and listening to the sounds in the house, digging his dirty fingernails into his palms when he starts to drowse off. Dave reappears, shaking his head when he sees the Kid is still awake, and takes off his own shoes before crawling into bed. 

“Sleep,” Dave says firmly. He reaches out and wraps his arms around the Kid, pulling the Kid’s back against his chest. “Sleep.”

The Kid lets himself relax finally, and he nods. He won’t sleep long. He can’t let himself sleep long, but falling asleep like this sounds like the best idea ever.


	11. Chapter 11

Az hasn't had much of a problem sleeping since this whole apocalypse shit first started going down, but a man has his limits. Not that he's proud to admit it, but Az's limit might take the form of Dave and his Kid's big gay drama. Az isn't coming down firmly on either side—Kid may've had a point about the shooting, but Dave is Az's bro, and even in the midst of a bunch of zombie motherfuckers, there's still such a thing as loyalty. Hell, it may be even more important now.

Az didn't exactly stay awake to listen for the two of them fighting or anything. He just needed to make sure he could have Dave's back if it came to it. Kid's itty, but he's squirrely as fuck, with them crazy serial killer eyes and creepy-ass pumpkin hair. Kid and Dave do shout at each other for a while before they get quiet. Az listens for sounds of a struggle or a body hitting the ground, but they must’ve just worked things out, because it stays quiet. 

After things calm down, Az sleeps for a while, but he wakes up after a couple of hours. He goes to take a piss, then he figures since he’s up, he may as well get something to eat, so he strolls on into the dark kitchen. Everything's a little too spooky-still for Az's taste, not that he'd rather be dealing with a bunch of those undead fucks than a few weird creaks, but the creaks are unsettling.

Az ends up with some dry, somewhat stale cereal, which he eats straight out of the box while he sits on the sofa in the dark living room. The cereal is just stale enough to not crunch, which is how Az is able to hear a soft whisper in the hallway, the words too quiet to make out. 

A half a minute later, Jade comes padding down the hall, practically tiptoeing, with Jaydon sound asleep against one shoulder and a bag slung over the other. She heads for the door, not glancing into the dark living room as she passes it. Az can hear a faint, familiar jangle from the pocket of the coat she found in one of the closets.

"I do believe that sounds like Dave's truck keys," Az says amiably. Jade startles, leaping and spinning in place. Her eyes and teeth glimmer in the tiny bit of moonlight streaming in from the window down the hall.

"You scared the shit out of me!" Jade whispers, her voice sharp.

"Hey, how come I gotta watch my language, but you can say any old thing you want?" Az asks. "And you feel like weighing in on my truck keys statement at all?"

"I'm just—I was just—"

"You know," Az drawls, "somebody else might think you were trying to sneak out of here, steal the truck, and leave us stranded on the wrong end of Buttfucksville."

"I was just going to get—"

"You got your kid and your shit. You were planning on robbing us," Az says flatly.

Jade doesn't answer, but Az's eyes are adjusted to the darkness enough to see her lips pressing together and her eyes darting around.

"Look, I'm gonna do something I probably shouldn't do," Az tells her. "You go back to your room, settle yourself and Jaydon back down, we'll pretend this never happened. He never has to know."

"And I'm supposed to believe you'll keep this a secret from you friend?" Jade asks. "Right."

"Oh, I don't mean Dave. He'd be _hurt_ , but I don't know as he's got enough left in him to be pissed," Az says. "Nah, I mean I won't tell his Kid you were thinking about ganking Dave's truck. Pretty sure Kid's got plenty of pissed left in him."

"Az," Jade begins, but Az waves her off.

"I never saw you," Az says. Jade stands in the hall for at least another full minute, staring at him, and then she nods once and turns back towards her bedroom. 

He continues sitting on the sofa, watching the hallway, but Jade doesn’t reappear. After a half hour or so, Az dozes off on the sofa, sleeping for only a little while before he hears a door open and the sound of someone walking quietly up the hall. A few seconds later, Kid’s head pops out past the edge of the entryway into the living room, squinting in the darkness.

“Az?” Kid whispers. “Why are you in here?”

“I got my reasons,” Az answers, rubbing his eyes and turning to look out the window, confirming that it doesn’t seem to be anywhere near dawn. “Why are _you_ in here?”

“Something didn’t feel right.”

“Something didn’t feel right like how?” Az asks, wondering if Kid maybe heard some of what happened with Jade, but Kid shakes his head.

“I don’t know. Just something,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “I was sleeping too heavily. I don’t like it. I thought I should do a perimeter check.”

“Inside or outside?”

“I was going to start with inside, but I might do outside, too,” Kid says, stepping into the room and frowning. “Maybe I’ll just start with outside, and you can check inside.”

“Not sure Dave would want you walking around outside in the dark,” Az says.

“That’s why I made sure he was sleeping first,” Kid says.

“Kid, look,” Az begins, ignoring the steely-death look Kid tries to give him. “Here’s the thing about Dave. He needs—”

“No,” Kid interrupts. “Whatever you’re going to say, I don’t care. Whatever he needs, I’ll figure out how to give it to him, but tonight _I_ need for him to sleep, and for me to do a perimeter check and get back into the room before he wakes up.”

Az sighs. “All right. Have it your way. You need a flashlight or lamp?” The Kid shakes his head. “Backup?” 

“Just keep an ear out for Dave. Tell him I had to get something for the truck if he comes looking for me,” Kid says.

“I’m not telling him jack, diddly, or squat,” Az replies. “Do whatever you gotta do, but leave me out of your big gay drama.”

Kid gives Az the one-shoulder shrug before continuing towards the door, pistol in his hand. He opens and closes the door quietly, and after a half a minute, Az can just barely hear Kid passing by the living room windows. Several more minutes pass, enough time that Az is starting to consider going out after Kid, but then the door squeaks open again, and shuts quietly.

“Clear,” Kid says, walking past the living room without looking in at Az. His limp is mostly gone, which should make Dave happy, at least. Maybe. Or maybe happy isn’t really in anybody’s wheelhouse these days. 

Az sits awake and listens for a few more minutes, but the whole house sounds quiet, inside and outside, so he hauls himself up off the sofa and back down the hall to the bedroom he’s occupying for the next. Hopefully everyone’s in a better frame of mind in the morning, and they can get to Nebraska and end this road trip from hell.

  
“Az? Az? Az?”

“Hmph?” Az mumbles, pressing his face down into the pillow.

“Az? Az?” Something pokes Az’s face. 

“G’way,” Az grumbles. 

“Az? Az? You sleepin’?” Something pokes Az’s face again, harder this time.

Az opens one eye to see Jaydon’s face only inches away from Az’s, frowning in concentration as he poke’s Az’s cheek with one finger. 

“Jaydon?”

“You awake?” Jaydon asks. “You awake, Az? Az, you awake?” He pokes Az’s face one more time.

\--“Stop poking me. And yeah, I’m awake.” Az sits up. “Your mom know you’re in here?”

Jaydon puts his finger to his lips. “Shhhh,” he says, giggling and then running out of the room. 

“Jaydon?” Jade’s voice calls from the bedroom next to Az’s, sounding a little panicked. “Where are you?”

“He was in here poking my face,” Az calls back. 

Kid’s voice carries down the hall. “Kitchen.”

Jaydon’s feet thump down the hall, followed by more giggles, and a shout of “Mama! Everybody awake!”

“And ready to leave Iowa,” Dave’s voice says, more quietly than Jaydon. 

Az rolls out of bed, pulls on some clothes, and stumbles across the hall to the bathroom before making his way into the living room, where all the bins they brought in the previous night are already assembled. Jaydon runs into the room, making a circle around Az, then around Dave, before trying to do the same to Kid, who steps too close to the kitchen counter for Jaydon to be able to run around him.

“We’re eating on the road,” Kid says. 

“Fine by me, I guess,” Az says. “This everything?”

“Unless you can think of something we should look for here before we go,” Dave says. 

“I grabbed a stack of towels from the bathroom,” Jade says, walking in with the armload of towels. “We probably want to grab one of the quilts, maybe more, and if there’s any winter clothes here that’ll fit anybody, those probably oughta come, too.”

“It’s starting to rain again,” Kid says.

“We should go,” Dave says, then looks at Jade. “Let’s find what we can and load up.” 

“Nothing much in our room, except the quilt,” Jade says. “We’ll look through Az’s if you or Kid want to get the back room. The other two of you can start loading.”

“I’ll start loading,” Dave volunteers, picking up two of the bins and heading to the door. Az stacks up another few bins and follows behind Dave, arranging them in the back of the truck.

“You okay this morning?” Az asks. 

Dave shrugs a little as they walk back to the house. “Ready to stop driving. Never in my life did I think I’d say ‘I can’t wait to get to Nebraska’.” 

“Got a little noisy last night,” Az says casually.

Dave glares and turns red before responding. “How’re you and Jade getting along?” 

“We’re fine, everybody’s just fine this morning,” Az says. “So, no more fighting today, right?”

“Right,” Dave says, too quickly. “No one’s fighting. We’re just… driving. Driving to Nebraska.” 

“And won’t that be so fun?” Az asks. Before Dave can answer, Jaydon comes running down the hall again, a folded up blanket in his arms, with Jade behind him, with a stack of blankets and other items. 

“Once Kid’s done, I think we’re ready,” Jade says. “You doing okay, Dave? Your face is a little flushed.”

“Ask Az how he’s doing this morning,” Dave says, suddenly smirking at Az before his face goes neutral again. 

“Uh-huh,” Jade says, shaking her head. “Come on, Jaydon. Let’s get this in the truck.”

“‘Kay, Mama!”

Dave stands in the kitchen, then nods at Az. “I’ll lock up.” 

Kid walks down the hall a few minutes later, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “I got everything useful,” he says. 

“Guess we’ll hit the road then,” Az says. “Dave’s gonna lock the place up.” Dave nods, looking around the kitchen like he’s expecting more food to jump out at them or something. Luckily, nothing jumps out at them at all, and after tossing Kid’s duffel into the truck bed and waiting for Jade to buckle Jaydon into his car seat, they all take their seats in the truck. 

“Let’s go! Whee!” Jaydon declares. Dave chuckles and nods, starting the truck and heading west again on the main road. 

"Now, I'm gonna go ahead and break some bad news," Az announces, as Kid starts handing out an assortment of bars and bottle water. "Everybody bracing theirselves?"

Dave snorts. “Unless it’s a nuclear bomb, can’t get much worse than zombies,” he says, sounding oddly cheerful about it. 

"No bombs," Az says. "More like I don't exactly know where my uncle's place is, other than a little north of Norfolk."

"That's super helpful," Kid mutters under his breath, which means Az doesn't even have to dignify that shit. Dave shrugs, like he’s unsurprised by the news. 

"Not like we've got a time limit, as long as we keep the truck fueled, right?" Jade asks. She sounds fake-chipper, but at least she's trying, so that's something. "We can start at Norfolk and work up and across in a grid or something."

"Don't think it's all that far out," Az offers. "I know he's not far from his Mormon church."

"Cows!" Jaydon says, pointing out the window. "No zombies!"

“No cow zombies,” Dave agrees. “Jaydon, can you look for a gas station with no zombies?” 

"Yeah!" Jaydon stares out the window even harder, singing to himself quietly.

Kid pulls the map he swiped from the last gas station up onto his lap. "Couple of small towns soon," he says. "Somebody will have gas."

"If there's any left," Az says. "We can't be the only ones siphoning."

“No one else driving that we’ve seen, really,” Dave points out. “Unless everyone’s going to Nebraska.” 

"Or north or south," Az counters. 

"Or they grew wings and flew over us, which means they probably don't need the gas, anyway," Jade says, which puts a stop to that conversation.

After another few miles, Kid says, a little too casually, "I was thinking we should start taking shifts in the back again."

Dave’s head moves like he’s rolling his eyes hard enough to move his head. “To kill some cows?” he says, also too casually. 

"Still a lot of towns between us and Nebraska," Kid says. "Some of them are kind of big."

“Cross that bridge when we come to it,” Dave says, almost grunting. “Not an actual bridge. Prairie’s all dried up.” 

"I just want us to be prepared, just in case," Kid replies. 

“And now we are,” Dave says. “We’re prepared to think about it if it happens.” 

"Fine." Kid slouches down in his seat, holding the map up in front of him.

"You sleep okay, Kid?" Jade asks.

"I'm fine," Kid says.

"You seem a little tired," she says.

"I slept," Kid insists.

“For once,” Dave adds in a low voice, sounding almost amused again. 

"Yeah, slept the whole night, didn't you?" Az says. 

Kid turns around and glares at Az. "I slept enough."

“I’m ready for some place reinforced,” Dave admits. “Jaydon, any luck on those gas stations?” 

"I see five cows," Jaydon says. He points out his window, then turns to point at Az's. "Big red truck."

Az looks out his window. The field they're passing does have the wreckage of a red Mack truck, the cab lying on its side and the tank section burnt and twisted. A charred, peeling label on a remaining piece of the tanker says 'EY'S GEN', the rest of it unreadable.

"No gas left in that truck," Az says.

"Doesn't look like it exploded, so much as just caught fire," Jade notes. "Means it already ditched the gas someplace, farther up the way."

“Let’s hope it’s on the main road,” Dave says, nodding. 

Another few miles later, they pass along the south edge of a town, the only gas station-looking building nothing but a burnt out husk. Dave shakes his head, looking almost as if the gas station being burnt was planned solely for his inconvenience. 

Jaydon sings a little song that sounds a little like 'Twinkle, Twinkle Zombie Cows' as they continue driving between fields. They only have to drive another fifteen or so before Jade starts tapping on her window. 

"Turn up there! I see a sign!" she says.

“Any zombies around?” Dave asks, slowing the truck somewhat. 

"None that I can see," Jade says. "Town look empty."

Dave nods, and as they approach the gas station, he puts on the turn signal, even though there’s no other cars that need to know what they’re doing. The gas station on the right has a large sign for 'Casey's General Store', and the building seems to be in fine shape and zombie free.

"Looks like we're stopping at Casey's," Az declares. Kid makes a snorting, choking noise that might almost be the sound of him holding back a laugh. "What?" Az demands. "Why's that funny?"

Kid shakes his head, but he doesn't answer. Dave pulls into the gas station and circles it a few times, like a dog trying to get comfortable enough to lie down. Finally, he parks the truck next to the tank opening, and turns off the engine.

“Well, we know what to do,” Dave says, opening his door and then grabbing the siphoning hose from the back. 

Az nods, and he and Jade stand by the truck with their guns while Dave siphons gas and Kid hops, skips, and jumps into the gas station building and back out again with a couple of full plastic sacks and an empty red gas container. Kid sets the gas container down by Dave before getting back into the truck, where he hands something to Jaydon and deposits the bags, then hops out again to stand with his gun ready until the truck and the extra gas container have both been filled. 

Dave rolls up the hose and sticks it and the red gas can into the back of the truck, then climbs back into the truck and starts the engine. “Nebraska or bust,” he mutters loudly. 

Kid hands a new map over to seat to Az, saying, “Circle where you think it is.” 

Az looks down at the map of Nebraska, shaking his head. “I’ll do my best.”

“No,” Kid says. “Do better than that.”

Dave snorts, not looking away from the road in front of them. That’s the last noise anybody but Jaydon makes for the next half hour, and Jaydon’s noises are all zooming sounds as he drives a little Hot Wheels car around his legs and the truck’s window. Since Az doesn’t remember having seen any Hot Wheels before the Casey’s, the car must be what Kid found inside and gave to Jaydon. 

A half hour past Casey’s, they’re moving into Ames and the exit for I-35, and since their last foray past interstates went so fucking well, everybody but Dave and Jaydon draws guns, and there might also be some collective breath holding as they hit the cloverleaf for I-35. No zombies, but the bridge under I-35 is wall to wall cars, slammed into each other and blocking the road in both directions. 

Dave white-knuckles the steering wheel, slowing the truck. Kid gestures to the right side of the road. “Go up the wrong way,” Kid says. Dave nods but doesn’t say anything, weaving around the wrecked vehicles. 

Once Dave gets the truck the wrong way up the cloverleaf, they drive about a hundred yards north on I-35 before Dave crosses over the grassy median, heading south again and picking up the non-cloverleaf ramp back to 30, which puts them past the wreck. 30 is still more choked with wrecked or abandoned vehicles than they’ve had to deal with for the last two days, but at least it’s maneuverable. 

“Dog!” Jaydon says, pointing out his window. The sign on the left says ‘Ames Dog Park’ and does have a picture of a dog. 

“Thank fuck this is just humans,” Dave says quietly. 

“Probably no dogs out there today, baby,” Jade says. 

“Not a lot of ‘em left even if there was,” Az mutters to himself. 

“Bye, dogs,” Jaydon calls out. “Bye!”

They weave through more cars as they pass a clover leaf for 69, and when Az looks up 69 to his right, he can see a large horde of zombies moving south towards them. “Burn a little rubber, Dave,” Az suggests.

Dave’s shoulder comes up in a half-shrug, and the truck’s speed increases, though not by very much. They’ve barely gone any distance at all before a small group of zombies, all of which look like they used to be girls, all of them dressed in torn and stained ISU t-shirts, sprint into the road and throw themselves at the truck. Dave bumps one with the front of the truck, and the zombie falls, the truck rocking as he drives over the zombie’s body. The remaining three zombies grab the side of the truck, one of them immediately falling as its arm rips away.

Dave weaves sharply, shaking off the third zombie. Its head hits the blacktop and explodes like a rotten fruit. The last zombie clings to the side of the truck, though, almost managing to haul itself into the truck bed. Az slides the window open, poking the rifle through the gap, and blows the zombie’s head away. He watches its limp body crumple to the road behind them as Dave speeds up again. 

“Yeah, I’m real glad I sped up for that,” Dave says to Az. 

“Yeah, yeah, go fudge yourself,” Az grumbles. “Complainer. See if I ever try to keep us alive again, thanks like that.”

After another miles of dodging cars, they get clear of Ames, 30 nice and open ahead of them. 30 makes a few northward turns, veering west again after each one, and they pass a few small neighborhoods, acres of fields, and some stubby-looking forests. The neighborhoods and forests peter out, and once they pass a tiny town with signs declaring it Ogden, Dave pulls over onto the shoulder. 

“Bathroom break,” Dave announces. 

“Be nice if some of these coincided with trees or shrubs or something,” Jade complains. “Not everybody in this truck is a stand-and-pee kinda person.”

“Welcome to Iowa I guess.” Dave shrugs and turns off the engine again. 

“Over there,” Kid says, pointing back at the little stream they just crossed, which does have some bushes around it. “Bring the gun.”

“One of you help Jaydon?” Jade asks, and Az nods.

“Yeah, we’re cool,” Az tells her. Jade grabs a handful of napkins and her gun, hurrying towards the bushes down the road, and Az helps Jaydon out of his car seat. Az and Jaydon pee on some ants, then Jade comes back and hand sanitizer is distributed all around. 

Back on the road again, they don’t get far before Kid says, “What’s that?”

Dave turns his head to the side, then shakes his head slowly. “A big fucking mess,” he says after a moment. 

“What is that?” Jade asks. “Is that a _train_ in the road?”

“I think it’s two trains,” Kid says.

“Holy shit,” Az says. “Looks like they ran headlong into each other.”

Jade gives a half-hearted, “Language,” but nobody can really argue that the two-train derailment ahead of them, blocking the road and still faintly smoking, isn’t swear-worthy.

Dave grips the wheel tightly again and starts taking the truck through the field, bouncing everyone around as they head around the derailment. “I’m gonna keep driving until I see ‘Come Back to Iowa Soon’ on a sign.” 

“Sounds fine by me, bro,” Az says. “Sounds just fine by me.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Day 12**

The rest of Iowa is a blur of field after identical field, with nothing much to look at beside the occasional slow zombie slogging through the mud, the sky grey and wet. After two hours on the road, the truck starts getting close to Denison, and the Kid pulls out his map again, frowning as he taps his finger over the Denison dot. 

“Norfolk?” the Kid asks, not specifically directing the question at Az, but expecting everybody can probably figure out who he means.

“Yeah, just north of, if I remember it right,” Az says.

“Let’s hope you remember it right, then,” the Kid says, shaking his head. “We have to get off of 30 in just a little while. 30 takes us to Omaha. I don’t want to go to Omaha.”

“I don’t know anything about Omaha,” Dave says. “Insurance, maybe? No one needs insurance now.”

“Or cities,” the Kid points out. “Mostly I was thinking about it being a city. So, we’ll get on 141 to keep going west.”

“Gotta pee,” Jaydon says.

“No, you don’t,” Jade says. “You just peed thirty minutes ago, and an hour before that, too.”

“I gotta peeeeeeee,” Jaydon whines. “Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta peeeeee.”

“We can probably stop when we get off 30,” Dave says. “Might not be a bad idea.”

“He doesn’t have to pee. He’s just bored,” Jade insists. 

“Well, _I_ gotta pee,” Az says.

“Gotta peeeee,” Jaydon whines louder. “Mama, Mama, I gotta pee!”

“No, you don’t,” Jade repeats. “Now stop it.”

“I hate Iowa,” the Kid whispers, leaning closer to Dave. 

“Yeah,” Dave agrees, nodding a little, then raising his voice. “You can hold it, Az.”

“I can try. Can’t make any promises, though.”

“Az gotta pee, too, Mama,” Jaydon says.

“Az is a grownup and he can hold his pee,” Jade says. “And you can hold your pee, too.”

“Pee, pee, pee, pee, pee, pee, peeeeee,” Jaydon sings to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, getting gradually louder with each repeat of ‘pee’. “Pee, pee, _pee_ , p—”

“That is _enough_ ,” Jade snaps, and Jaydon goes abruptly silent. “Dave, just get us to 141.”

“On it,” Dave says with a nod, looking up briefly at the rearview mirror.

Neither Az nor Jaydon complains about having to pee again until they get to Denison and the turn onto 141. Denison is a black, smoking ruin to their right as they turn slightly north onto 141, then begin heading west again. 

Once they can’t see Denison out the rear window anymore, Jade quietly says, “Mama? Pee now?”

“If Dave finds a safe place to stop, you can pee and then we’ll get something to eat,” Jade says. “Is that okay with you, Dave?”

“Yeah, I’ll keep an eye out,” Dave agrees, nodding again. 

“Let’s don’t stop at the corn maze,” the Kid says, staring out Dave’s window at the dried-out looking cornfield on the left side of the road, with a faded sign advertising ‘Biggest Corn Maize in Western Iowa!!’. Sections of the field shudder as they pass by, probably from zombies lost inside the maze. 

Dave drives a few more miles past the corn maze before pulling over onto the shoulder, then immediately pulling right back onto 141. Az groans, but at a sharp look from Jade, slumps back in his seat without any outright complaining. Just a hundred yards or so down the road, Dave pulls across the road to the left, parking in front of a building labeled ‘Charter Oak AG Supply’. 

“ _Now_ we can all pee,” Dave announces.

“Pi— _peeing_ contest time, little man,” Az says to Jaydon, unbuckling him from his seat. Jade seems fine with Jaydon going to pee with Az, because she gets some napkins and her gun and goes around the side of the building. Az and Jaydon go stand by the back bumper of the truck and pee into the dusty gravel parking lot. 

“I don’t have to pee,” the Kid says. “I’m going in to see if they’ve got anything good left.” 

“I’ll circle around it real quick, just in case,” Dave says, picking up a gun and heading off to his right.

The Kid double checks his pistol, shoving some extra rounds into his pocket, then hops out of the car and approaches the front door of the AG Supply. He bangs his good foot against the door a few time and then waits, but he doesn’t hear anything moving inside but what sounds like a bird or two flapping around up near the rafters. The Kid pulls the door open and waits another couple of breaths before bringing his gun up and slowly walking inside. 

The AG Supply doesn’t exactly look ransacked, but it looks like someone went through it in a panic, whole shelves knocked onto the floor. The Kid wrinkles up his nose as the smell of decay coming from the back corner of the building. He nudges a large cannister on the floor with the toe of his shoe. It rolls and makes a sloshing noise, the label identifying it as a pesticide. 

The Kid walks down the aisle farthest from the rotten smell. These shelves have shoe boxes for a few different kinds of boots, plus some heavy wool socks, and heavy canvas jackets. The shelves on the opposite side have camouflage pants and waffle-weave shirts, plus some lady camo, with the pink mixed in. 

“Find anything?” Dave calls from the front of the store. 

“Lots of anythings,” the Kid calls back. “Boots, clothes, pink... stuff....”

“Well… maybe Jade’ll like the pink stuff?” Dave says, his voice slowly getting closer. “Boots sound like a good idea.”

“Socks, too, and jackets.” The Kid holsters his gun and starts shuffling the boxes around, looking for his size or a size or two bigger, so he could layer up on socks. “What’s your shoe size?”

“Thirteen. Az is a twelve.”

“Az is a two, tops,” the Kid mutters to himself as he continues to squint at the boxes in the low light. “More like a one-and-a-half.”

“Uh… okay?” Dave says as he appears at the end of the aisle. “Oh, nice socks!”

“You have two boot choices,” the Kid says, holding up the only two boxes labeled 13. “Probably you should just take both.”

“Good plan,” Dave agrees, picking up a handful of the socks.

“I was going to take all the socks, whether they fit or not.”

“I was going to hide all of the good socks from Az.” Dave grins at the Kid. “He can have all the acrylic ones.”

“I think I saw some camo duffel bags on the endcap,” the Kid says. “We’ll put all our stuff in there, then keep watch and let Az and Jade come in for theirs. She might like the lady camo.”

“We’d better get some reflective vests,” Dave says with a snort. “All this camo. Just in case there’s some deer hunters left.”

“It looks warm, anyway. Besides, the jackets are just canvas. The inside looks like it’s either fleecey or plaid.” The Kid picks up the nearest jacket, looking at the tag for the size, then getting the two similarly sized ones behind that jacket. 

“Fleece is good.” Dave goes back to the endcap, returning with duffel bags. “I mean it about the vests, though. We should check for some.”

“Probably with the other deer stuff, maybe?” 

“Maybe we’ll luck out and find some more guns with the vests,” Dave says, stuffing socks and a few jackets in one of the bags. 

The Kid walks around to the next aisle. “Do you think we need hats? Hmm. Probably not these.” He picks up a John Deere hat and tosses it over the top of the aisle in Dave’s direction.

“I can’t wear John Deere,” Dave says almost sadly. “Have you seen me with that shade of yellow?”

“I don’t ever want to see anybody with that shade of yellow,” the Kid says. “Try this one.” He picks up a plain camo John Deere hat, and sends it sailing over the top of the aisle, too. “Ooh, or this one!” He throws a straw cowboy-style hat over.

“Am I a deer hunter or a farmer?”

“I don’t know. What do you _want_ to be?” the Kid asks.

“I’d really rather just be Dave,” Dave admits. 

“Hmm. Okay, I’ll look for the Dave hats. Tell me when you think it’s the right one for that.” The Kid starts chucking all the hats, one at a time, over the aisle, starting with the rest of the John Deere hats and the trucker hats, then tossing the cowboy hats, a stack of balaclavas, and a fleece-lined plaid deer-hunter hat.

Dave comes around the aisle with four hats on. “Which one?”

The Kid starts to laugh so hard that he has to look away from Dave to catch his breath, but every time he glances back up at Dave standing there with four hats on, he laughs even harder. He has to lean over, resting his hands on his thighs, and pointedly _not_ look at Dave to calm down.

“I just really think it’s not the camo one,” Dave says calmly, grinning.

“Shhhhh,” the Kid says, still giggling in between gasping attempts at breathing. “I can’t _breathe_!”

“Are you reconsidering your position on the yellow?”

“Maybe!”

Dave produces another hat from behind his back, the plaid one with the fleece, and sticks it on the Kid with another grin. “There you go.”

“Aaaah!” the Kid yells, still laughing. “Not that one!” 

“Oh, I think the plaid is you,” Dave says seriously, leaning down and kissing the Kid. “Definitely you.”

The Kid goes up onto his tiptoes to kiss Dave some more, reaching up to knock the top hat on the stack off Dave’s head. He pulls back slightly and laughs. “Oops. Sorry, Dave.”

“You don’t like that hat?” Dave asks, looking injured before he kisses the Kid again. 

“Nope,” the Kid says. He flips the next hat off Dave’s head, too, before pressing his lips back against Dave’s. 

“Or that one?”

“Nope.” 

“You’re a tough hat customer,” Dave says.

“I don’t know hats, but I know what I like,” the Kid says, knocking the third hat off Dave’s head. “Not that one.”

“I hope you like this one,” Dave says, kissing the Kid. 

“Are you two dead?” Az’s voice suddenly breaks through the quiet. “‘Cause I’m hoping Dave left the keys in the truck, if so.”

"Yes, we're dead," the Kid calls back.

“Dave? You still alive in there? Your creepy little ginger kid didn’t kill you and stuff you in a crawl space, did he?” Az continues. 

“Buried in hats,” Dave yells. 

“So you’re coming back out in a minute?” Az shouts back. 

Dave snorts and shoulders one of the duffel bags. “You should come in here and get some clothes once we’re out!”

“I guess I’ll just keep watch until you’re done with your shopping, your highness,” Az yells. “Just take your time. Not like we’re in any kind of fucking rush or anything, and— _ow_ , woman! Stop hitting me!”

“I’m not in a rush,” the Kid says to Dave. “We haven’t even made it over to the jelly yet.”

“Yeah, it’s not like there’s a bunch of people about to come shop,” Dave says with a brief chuckle.

“It’s just kind of nice to not be in the truck or around other people,” the Kid says, picking up a stack of gloves and looking at them briefly before stuffing them into the other duffel bag.

“Yeah,” Dave agrees. He looks around and shrugs. “Too bad we don’t have more room in the truck. Oh well.”

“I’ll go over and look at the jelly and things if you want to look at, hmm. Maybe see if you can find the vests and guns?”

“Yeah, good idea,” Dave says, tossing the Kid two empty duffel bags.

“Something smells pretty bad over there,” the Kid says, gesturing towards the back corner and its smell of decay, “so if I scream, um. Probably have the gun ready.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Dave says, making a face and nodding before heading down the aisle and turning to look for vests and guns. 

The Kid walks towards the other end of the store, frowning at the bins of seeds, which would probably be really useful to someone who knew anything at all about farming. They don’t need any pesticides or weed killer, and while maybe a shovel or two could be useful, none of the other gardening or farming equipment is particularly relevant to their plans for the future.

Past the seeds and farming stuff, the Kid finds the aisle of jelly, jam, honey, and other jarred stuff. He carefully puts all ten of the plastic bears full of honey, plus the two larger jugs of honey, into one of the duffel bags, then steps across the aisle for some country-themed kitchen towels to wrap around the jelly and preserves jars he stuffs in after the honey. He also gets the jarred pickled beets, green beans, and okra, even though he’s pretty sure that under non-apocalyptic circumstances, none of those things are things he or anybody else in their group would want to eat. Maybe Az or Jaydon.

Finding gummy fruit slice candy on the next aisle is definitely a win, though, and the Kid puts several packages of those and the peanut brittle into his bag as he walks slowly down the aisle. The source of the rotting smell is much closer now. The Kid stops at the end of the aisle, looking toward the back corner of the store. The body decaying in the corner doesn’t move at all, which means it’s not a reason for concern, so the Kid tosses in a few bags of caramel popcorn to bribe Jaydon with, and then walks back towards the front to wait for Dave.

Dave appears with three bulging duffel bags after another minute or two. “Ready?”

“Yes. It wasn’t a zombie. It was just a dead guy,” the Kid says.

“Lots of those, too,” Dave says with a shrug, turning to head outside. “Your turn,” he says to Az, Jade, and Jaydon.

“The smell isn’t a zombie,” the Kid tells Jade as she passes him. 

“That’s good to know, I guess,” Jade says. “Come on, Jaydon. Let’s see if they have hats your size in there.”

“Be sure to get some boots,” Dave tells Az. 

“Yeah, alright,” Az says, not really looking at Dave. Instead, his eyes follow Jade and Jaydon into the store. 

“Go, man,” Dave says, sounding amused. Az nods and walks after Jade, taking Jaydon’s hand before the door closes behind them. The Kid shakes his head at them, because Az is probably going to keep following Jaydon around for the rest of the apocalypse. 

“Guess we should move a few things around,” Dave says as they approach the back of the truck. “Not really anything non essential though, is there?”

“It’s all mixed in together, though,” the Kid says. “We should at least compile the food in one place, clothes in another, and stuff that isn’t either somewhere else.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Dave looks around and nods. “It’s a good place to do it.”

The Kid waits for Dave to lower the tailgate, then he climbs up into the truck, pulling the lids off the large bins and sticking them behind the lawn chair. “Do we really even still need this chair?” he asks Dave.

Dave frowns and then shrugs. “Probably not,” he admits. “We could leave it here.”

“Will Az be upset?”

“The better question is how many miles before he even notices,” Dave says.

The Kid smiles at Dave and starts unhooking the bungee cords and untying the ropes holding the chair to the truck. Dave opens some of the bins and starts transferring food into one and clothes into another. After folding up the lawn chair and sticking it behind the bin lids, the Kid helps Dave move items between bins, neither of them talking. The quiet and the sorting feels strangely peaceful, and the Kid keeps smiling as he rolls the spare clothes up into tight bundles and packs them into the bin in front of him. 

By the time Az, Jade, and Jaydon have been inside for about fifteen minutes, Dave and the Kid have the bins sorted into at least some semblance of order. The Kid slides the food bin directly underneath the cab’s rear window, puts the lid back on it, and then sits down on top of the lid. 

“How long do you think it’ll be before we need to start looking for the Mormons?” Dave asks.

“We could make it to Norfolk in four hours if we keep the stops down and are able to keep moving at a decent speed,” the Kid says. “I have no idea how long it’ll take us to find the Mormons once we get there, though. If Az can’t remember any better details, it could be hours, maybe even a couple of days.”

“Let’s plan on not making many stops, then,” Dave says with a sigh. “Maybe Jaydon’ll sleep for a bit.”

“Az, too.” The Kid swings his legs, drumming his good heel against the bin a little harder than his not-so-good heel. “We could drug them.”

“We could?” Dave says blankly. 

“Yes. You can give them Benedryl to make them sleep. My mom used to give it to me all the time to make me be quiet,” the Kid says. 

Dave frowns and looks upset for a minute, then nods slowly. “I’ll let you take care of it, then, if you know how much to give them.”

“I’ll put it in some Gatorade. I think Jade had kid medicine in the bags of stuff from the drug store,” the Kid says. He studies the upset expression on Dave’s face for a moment, before asking, “Does that bother you?”

“We need to get someplace stable,” Dave says. “This isn’t good for us, being on the road.”

The Kid nods. “No, I don’t think it’s good, either. Do you think I should drug Jade, too?”

“No, she’s good at noticing things,” Dave says after a moment’s thought.

The Kid nods again and leans over to start rifling through the bin with the various medical supplies. He finds a bottle of bright pink children’s Benedryl, then hops off the food bin, retrieving two of the smaller bottles of Gatorade. He uses the measuring cup to pour out a dose for Jaydon, pouring it into the Gatorade bottle and shaking it up. He pours a few capfuls into the other bottle and shakes that up, too. 

“Just remember the red is Az’s and the orange is Jaydon’s, I guess,” the Kid says. “And don’t let anybody share.”

“Right. And if Jade asks, we only drugged Az. Jaydon falling asleep was coincidental.”

“Or we’ll blame it on Az sharing with Jaydon.”

“Both.” Dave shrugs. Dave leans down and gives the Kid a kiss, then leans on the hood of the truck as the others emerge from the store, carrying they own duffel bags. The Kid gathers up a few more Gatorade bottles, keeping the drugged ones separate, and slides out of the back of the truck. 

“We ready to roll out?” Az says, tossing his duffel bag into the bed of the truck. 

“Let’s get to Nebraska,” Dave says with a nod, holding out a hand for one of the non-drugged Gatorade bottles.

“I wanna eat!” Jaydon says. “Have some pizza?”

“We’ve got Gatorade for now,” Dave says to him.

“Here, Jaydon,” the Kid says, handing him the bottle of orange Gatorade. 

“What do you say, Jaydon?” Jade prompts.

“Thanks!” Jaydon says, immediately guzzling half the bottle. 

The Kid hands the bottle of red Gatorade to Az, a lemon-lime to Jade, and keeps the other red one for himself. Once the additional duffel bags are rearranged, everyone climbs back into the truck cab, and Dave pulls back onto 141.

“We’ll go through a town and then turn left on 183 in just a few miles,” the Kid tells Dave. “If we stayed on 141, we’d have to swing way north.”

“Left on 183,” Dave repeats with a nod. 

Jaydon nods off not long after Dave turns onto 183, and within another half hour, Az yawns loudly and then promptly falls asleep so fast his head knocks against the back window. When they approach 37, the Kid directs Dave to the right. Within a quiet few miles on 37, Jade also drifts off without the aid of drugged Gatorade. The Kid double checks his map, then leans against Dave’s side with a contented sigh.

“Onawa to I-29 is probably the last place we’ll have to worry about too many zombie,” the Kid says quietly. “Between I-29 and Norfolk is mostly empty.”

Dave nods. “Might be easy to avoid them, then.”

“Easier, anyway.”

“Hey, a guy can dream,” Dave says with a little snort as they continue driving.

“Hmm. Is that what you dream about? Empty highways?” the Kid asks.

Dave shrugs. “A lack of zombies seems like a pretty nice dream most days.”

The Kid nods, and they continue for the next hour in silence, without even a small sound from the back seat but Jaydon’s soft snoring. As they approach Onawa, Dave slows the truck, and starts looking out the side windows, which is the International Dave Sign for ‘we need to get gas’. They roll into town, passing no gas stations on either side of the road, but also not seeing more than a slow or two wandering between buildings. After they cross the railroad tracks and drive down the town’s main street, the Kid spots a gas station over on the right.

“Do it quick, just us?” the Kid asks. 

“No need to wake anyone up,” Dave says.

The Kid nods as Dave pulls into the empty gas station lot. “Okay. You siphon, I’ll guard,” the Kid says.

Dave nods and pulls out the hose, getting setup. With no further discussion between them, Dave starts siphoning the gas, and the Kid stands on the opposite side of the truck, looking up and down the street with his gun drawn and ready. A slow moving group of zombies approaches from a partially destroyed building across the street, but they’re delayed enough by the rubble that Dave is able to finish gassing the truck. Dave and the Kid get back in the truck and pull back onto the road as the first zombie reaches the parking lot. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” the Kid says. 

“Nah, and we’re making good time,” Dave agrees, looking briefly in the rearview mirror. “And everyone stayed asleep.”

“I think this is the quietest drive so far.”

“We should’ve drugged Az sooner,” Dave jokes. 

“You should be glad I didn’t think of it too soon,” the Kid says. “I might’ve drugged you both and stolen your truck.”

“Okay, not _that_ soon?”

“Maybe not that soon,” the Kid agrees. 

Dave grins for a few seconds and nods, then focuses his attention back on the road. Less than ten minutes later, they cross a bridge over the Missouri River, and a look of relief crosses Dave’s face. He gestures to the sign that says ‘Welcome to Nebraska’ with one hand, shaking his head a little.

“Almost there,” the Kid says. “And we never have to go back to Iowa again.”

“I’d drive around it first,” Dave says seriously.

The Kid nods. “We’ll turn left up here, then right in another few blocks to stay on 51. It’s not that much farther to go.”

“Stay on 51, got it.” Dave looks like he relaxes a little as they drive deeper into Nebraska.

“All the way to 275, and 275 goes straight into Norfolk,” the Kid says. “We’ll have to wake Az up around then, but maybe they’ll stay asleep until we get there.”

“We’ve been lucky so far today,” Dave says, nodding a little. 

“I hope our luck holds,” the Kid says, tapping the tip of his finger against the dot on the map marked ‘Norfolk’. 

Nebraska is the emptiest state they’ve driven through so far. They don’t pass through any towns or by any multi-home farm clusters, and apart from a few random wanderers out in the fields or a slow or two shambling along the shoulder of the road, Nebraska seems to be just as devoid of zombies as of living people. They make the turn onto 275 without incident, and put in another fifteen miles before Az groans in the backseat.

“Fuck, that was a weird fucking nap,” Az says. “I dreamed about undead go-go dancers. It was sick as hell.”

“You need to watch your language,” Jade says, not opening her eyes yet. She doesn’t sound quite as harsh as usual when she says it, though. 

“Sorry. Little man’s still sleeping,” Az replies. 

“Good,” Jade says, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Nebraska,” Dave says. “Made it out of Iowa, finally.”

“Halle-freakin-lujah,” Az says. 

“How much longer until we get to Norfolk?” Jade asks. 

“Not very much longer,” the Kid says.

“Jaydon been out this whole time?” Jade asks. “He must be worn out. He never naps like that!”

“Well, Iowa was pretty boring,” the Kid says, not looking directly at Jade.

“Not sorry to leave it behind,” Dave says almost too vigorously. “Az, any suggestions on where to head first?”

“Well, like I said before, I think it’s north of the city,” Az says. “If I saw the street name, it might look familiar. I’ve addressed mail to him at least once.”

“East or west?” Dave says to Jade. “Might as well just pick a side and go with it.”

“May as well start on the east side and work our way across,” Jade suggests.

“Mama?” Jaydon’s groggy voice pipes up from the back. “Mama, I gotta pee.”

“We’ll find a gas station,” Dave says. “Maybe they’ll have a map of the city.”

They get closer and closer to Norfolk, but they don’t pass a gas station. Dave stops the truck for Jaydon to pee when they get to the junction of 275 and business 275. The Kid squints at the tri-state map that includes Nebraska, but squinting doesn’t provide any clearer a view of the streets of Norfolk. Dave just stands beside the truck until Jaydon is done and they all get back in. 

“Do we just keep going into the city?” the Kid asks. 

“Not sure there’s any other choice,” Jade says. “I guess we could try to start looking without a map, but working off some kind of grid would make it easier.”

“We need a map so we don’t check the same places twice, I think,” Dave says slowly, pulling back onto the road and driving towards the city.

“First gas station we find, I’ll run in and get a map, and we’ll turn around and go back to the city outskirts,” the Kid says firmly. “We’ll plan our search and go from there.”

“Yeah, we don’t want to stay in the city,” Dave says, continuing to drive slowly. He slows even more at some cross streets, looking down them, and at one point, he inhales sharply and hits the gas. “Big group of them down there,” he says tersely. 

“Fasts or slows?” the Kid asks. 

“Yep.”

“Okay.” The Kid takes a deep breath. “We find the gas station, you drop me off, you circle the block, and then pick me back up.”

Dave frowns at that, then shakes his head. “I’ll go part of the way down the block and make some three-point turns,” he says. “We don’t need to be a full block opposite you at any point.”

“Okay. Just keep moving,” the Kid says. 

“Right,” Dave agrees. A few blocks later, he pulls to the right. “Get ready,” he says to the Kid as he drives up parallel to the gas station entrance. Jade opens her door as soon as the truck is stopped, and the Kid climbs over her, hopping out of the truck and sprinting for the entrance. Luckily, the front doors aren’t locked, and the Kid pushes them open just barely and slips inside as the truck drives away. 

The Kid gives his eyes a second to adjust to the slightly dimmer light inside the store, steadying his gun as he visually sweeps the building. When nothing inside moves, the Kid sidesteps over to the rack of maps, pulling out two different maps of Norfolk and the surrounding area. He gives the stores another quick look-over, noticing the zombie slowly lurching out of the back storeroom area just as Dave’s truck pulls back into the parking lot. 

Holding tightly to the maps with one hand, and his gun with the other, the Kid shoulders the door open and runs for the truck, the swinging door hitting the zombie behind him as he climbs in the open passenger door. The Kid holds up his maps triumphantly. 

“See the herd again?” he asks.

“Not yet,” Dave says, turning back the way they came. “Let’s hope we don’t.”

Dave drives back to the 275/business 275 junction before stopping again. A quick look behinds them confirms the zombies haven’t followed them, so Dave turns the truck off, and the Kid spreads the first Norfolk map out on his lap. Jade leans over to look at it, and Az props his arms on the seatback.

“I know it’s not in the middle there,” Az says, pointing to midtown Norfolk. “And I’m pretty sure his street has a name, not just a number.”

“It’s a good grid,” Dave says slowly. “Northeast first?”

“Maybe start with the square that 35 bisects,” Jade suggests. “Do the southeast corner, then the northwest.”

Dave nods. “Got it.” He starts the truck again and heads towards the square Jade pointed out.

They spend the next four-and-a-half hours slowly combing through each large square on the grid, driving down every side street and marking it off as they go. Jaydon starts to whine at about an hour in, and by two hours into the search, he starts complaining loudly. Jade tries to shush him, but when she yells he starts crying. The Kid sighs and climbs over the seat into the back, digging out the Hot Wheels, which at least makes Jaydon stop crying. The Kid drives Hot Wheels around Jaydon’s legs and the back of Dave’s seat while Az looks out the window and says “No” to every street they pass. 

They’re still searching as the sun starts to set, and it’s only Jaydon’s sudden declaration of “Look! Night!” that makes them realizes they’re about to be driving around past dark with no plan for where to stop for the night. 

“Let’s just back in somewhere,” Dave says with a weary sigh. “I think we’d make mistakes clearing a place tonight.”

The Kid climbs back over the seat into the front. “Maybe the country club?” he says, pointing to the left. “If they have golf, it’ll be pretty empty.”

Dave nods. “Yeah, good idea.” He drives into the country club lot, then carefully backs them into a corner of the parking lot, turning off the truck.

Jade unbuckles Jaydon, who climbs over the seat into the front, then immediately climbs back into the back again. “Jaydon, baby, you need to sit down,” Jade says. “It’s time to sleep. Come back up here.”

“Uh-uh,” Jaydon says. “Sleepin’ in my seat.”

“Fine, but you need to sit down and stay there,” Jade says. “Not sure how comfortably any of us are sleeping tonight as it is.”

Az opens the back window and slides it, feeling for one of the duffel bags and retrieving a few blankets. He tosses on up to Jade, one to Dave, and keeps the last one in the back, tucking half of it around Jaydon in his chair and the other around himself. The air coming in through the back window is cold, but at least it isn’t stale like the air inside the truck. The Kid kicks his shoes off and curls his legs up under him, leaning against Dave. Dave shakes the blanket out over them, one arm falling across the Kid, and then Dave closes his eyes. 

“Night, everybody,” Dave mutters.

Despite the less-than-comfortable sleeping situation, the Kid falls asleep fairly fast, though he sleeps lightly, waking when Jade moves or Az snores too loud. At one point, he hears Jaydon singing to himself quietly. 

 

**Day 13**

The sky is still dark when the Kid wakes up to the sound of Jaydon crying, “Mama! Mama!” His voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. Confused, the Kid opens his eyes, letting out a yell when a zombie flings itself against the driver’s side window.

“Jaydon?” Jade says, sounding frantic. “Jaydon? Baby? Where are you?”

“Mama? Mama!”

Dave bolts upright and grabs his gun, then stares at the zombie outside his window like he can’t decide if he should roll down the window and shoot it, or something else. Another zombie throws itself into Jade’s window, its fingers scrabbling against the glass, leaving blackish smears. More zombies start to flock around both sides of the truck, and when the Kid looks into the back seat, Jaydon isn’t there.

“Mama! Mama, zombies! Zombies, Mama!” Jaydon screams. 

“Oh, shit,” Az says. “He went out the window. He’s on the roof.” 

“Jaydon!” Jade screams. “Baby, climb back down!”

“They’re all around the back,” Az says.

The Kid shakes his head. “If he climbs down, they’ll get him. Crack your window. Shoot if you can.” 

Jade ignores the Kid as she tries to climb into the back seat. “Jaydon. Jaydon, baby, climb back down, climb back down to Mama!”

“Mama! Mama! Help!”

“Jade, _stop_ ,” Az says. He puts his arm out, bracing it against the seat so she can’t try to climb through the window. “If he climbs down, those zombies are grabbing him for sure.”

“My baby!” Jade screams. “Jaydon!”

The Kid grabs his gun and slides into Jade’s empty seat, rolling down the window just enough to stick the muzzle out the window and fire. The zombie closest to the window falls, another taking its place, while Jaydon keeps screaming from the truck’s roof. 

Dave puts his gun back down on his lap as he starts the truck, turning on the headlights and throwing it into gear. Az picks up the rifle, somehow managing to shove his head, right arm and shoulder, and most of his left arm out the back window opening. Jade beats at Az’s side and back with her fists, screaming and sobbing, and Jaydon’s plaintive, panicked cries of “Mama! Mama!” soon mix with the sound of Az firing over and over into the zombies surrounding the truck. 

As the Kid and Az clear out the majority of the zombies on the right side, Az shouts, “I’m gonna grab him. Dave, gun it when I say go!”

“Got it!”

Az pulls the rifle back in, letting it drop behind him, then he reaches up towards the roof with his head and both arms out the window. “Got him! Go! Go!”

Dave guns it, the truck’s tires squealing as he pulls out of the space and then down the country club’s driveway. “Tell me when I can slow down!”

“Just keep going!” Az calls. The last of the zombies fall away from the truck, and Az pulls Jaydon down into the truck bed. “Okay. Slow down.”

Dave eases off the accelerator slowly, looking in the rearview mirror. “I’m going to drive for twenty-four hours straight,” he says quietly to the Kid. “If that’s what it takes to find them.”

Az slides his body back into the cab, pulling Jaydon behind him. He dumps Jaydon into Jade’s lap and then slumps against the carseat, breathing heavily. Jade keeps sobbing and she checks Jaydon’s arms and legs for bites or scratches, finally resting her face on top of his head. Jaydon sniffles and wipes his face, hugging Jade and looking at Az with wide eyes.

“Mama,” Jaydon finally says in an awed voice. “Az kill the zombies!”

“I know, baby,” Jade says. “I know. He did. He did a good job killing those zombies. He did a good job keeping you safe.”

“You okay, Jay-jay?” Az asks. “None of those nasty old zombies got you?”

“Uh-uh,” Jaydon says, shaking his head.

“Thank you,” Jade whispers over Jaydon’s head. “Az, thank you.”

Az shrugs like it was nothing to cram half his body out of the window and shoot zombies at close range to save Jaydon. “Any of us would’ve done it.”

To their right, the sky starts to lighten, a thin line of yellow appearing at the horizon. Dave evens out the truck’s speed, turning towards the last area they searched, and looks at the clock briefly. “We’ll stop for breakfast in an hour,” he says. “Might as well do some searching.”

Jaydon clings to Jade for a few more minutes before sitting bolt upright. “Mama!” he says. “Mama, I gotta pee!”


	13. Chapter 13

Dave barely stops the truck for breakfast, intent on keeping the searching moving forward, and as they go through yet another grid, he rests his hand on the Kid’s leg. “How many more grids?” he asks quietly. If they can’t finish the grids in less than a day, he wants to pick a place to sleep by mid-afternoon, even if they continue searching after it’s secured. 

“Depends on how far north we have to go,” the Kid says. “Just two more across the top, but if we have to go up another row? A lot.”

“At three, we find a house and clear it for tonight,” Dave says in a low voice. “We can’t have another night like last night.”

“No,” the Kid agrees. He puts one of his hands on top of Dave’s. Dave looks in the rearview mirror at Jade, Jaydon, and Az, then down at the Kid’s map. 

“Okay, next grid,” Dave says in a louder voice. “Az, you ready?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Az answers. 

Dave has gotten used to some quiet as they drive, but it feels different in the truck over the course of the next grid, and Dave stops at a corner as they finish it. “Snack time,” he says, looking at Az. Az nods and slides open the back window, reaching through it to grab food from the bin. 

As he gets out the food, Dave watches Jade and Jaydon stretching, probably because they’ve all three been smushed against each other all day long, Jaydon not even in his carseat between Az and Jade. After everyone eats a snack and drinks some Gatorade, Dave turns the truck on again, watching the three of them settle back into their smushed positions. 

“Here we go,” Dave says, easing onto the road. “What’s that Mormon choir? Too bad we don’t have a CD of them, we could play it like a Mormon call.”

“We could find a music store,” the Kid suggests. “Only I guess we’d have to know what they’re called to look for them there, too.”

“Mama?” Jaydon says quietly.

“Shh, baby. Everybody needs to concentrate,” Jade says. “We’ve got to find where we’re going.”

Dave stops at a cross street and then slowly rolls his window down about two inches. “Let’s listen for people,” he says. “It can’t hurt.”

The Kid nods like this sounds perfectly reasonable to him. He rolls down the other window a similar amount, and Dave proceeds through the next grid, turning when the Kid indicates and checking to see if Az looks like he recognizes anything. When they stop at one point, Dave leans over to look at the map. 

“Just three more side streets, it looks like,” he say. “C’mon, Mormons.” He heads down the road slowly, waiting and hoping Az will say something soon. 

“No, none of this looks right,” Az says. “I’m thinking more and more that it was a number-name street, not a name-name street.”

“Maybe one of these will be our lucky number,” Dave says, trying to make it sound like a joke, but he feels like it doesn’t work. They finish the grid, then drive across the top of the next one, checking two more little streets, one that seems more like a driveway, before turning onto 49th Street. “This is a number street,” Dave says to Az. “See anything?” Dave slows the truck as they drive down the middle of the road.

Az shakes his head. “These are all small. Uncle Travis’s place is supposed to be huge.”

Dave turns down a side street with larger houses off of it. “These?”

“Nothing I recognize,” Az says. “I could be wrong. It’s not like I even went there myself! I just saw it on Facebook and shit.”

“Language!” Jaydon chirps, a few seconds after it’s clear Jade isn’t going to say it.

“Sorry,” Az says. “I meant to say stuff.”

Dave keeps driving, then hits the brake almost abruptly. “I don’t know about Mormons,” he says slowly, “but that gate has a padlock on it. And it doesn’t look like it’s padlocked since before everything went downhill.”

“Should we send someone up?” the Kid asks. “I can go. Probably Az should go, too.”

“Stay with the truck,” Dave tells him. “Az and I’ll go up. I hope they recognize you, Az.”

“Oh, sh—crap, yeah,” Az says. 

“So, if something happens, you want me to ram the truck into the gate?” the Kid asks. 

“Preferably without us between the truck and the gate,” Dave says, leaving the truck running as he climbs out and waits on Az. He looks over the gate at the property and nods. If it is Az’s relatives’ place, and if they’ll let them stay, it won’t be a bad place to stop driving. 

Az slings the rifle over his shoulder after he climbs over Jade and out of the back seat, squinting at the gate. “I don’t recognize any of this from the pictures, but this is as good a place as any, right?” Az says. 

“There’s someone here, I bet, anyway,” Dave says. “Maybe they’d at least let us stay here a night or two while we keep searching. Jaydon wouldn’t have to ride all day long.” Dave stops just to the side of the gate and cups his hands around his mouth. “Hello!”

“Hope there’s no zombies up there,” Az says. 

“Most zombies don’t know English,” Dave says, and after there’s no response or movement, he starts to climb over the gate. “Anyway, your relatives forgot to install a doorbell at the gate.”

“They’re attracted to _noise_ , dipshit,” Az grumbles. “Or maybe they are. I can’t figure it out for sure, but I don’t like taking chances.”

“Maybe zombies’ll wake up your uncle. You think they’re taking a midday nap or something?”

“A midday—are you fucking kidding me right now?” Az asks. 

“Hey, they aren’t _my_ crazy Mormon relatives,” Dave says with a laugh. “We just scaled their gate and now we’re walking up their driveway, and they don’t seem at all concerned about any of that.”

Almost as soon as Dave finishes saying that, though, there’s the sound of a shot flying through the air and then hitting the grass near them. Az flings himself to the side in the other direction, shouting, “Shit! They’re concerned, alright?”

“Don’t shoot!” Dave yells, waving his arms above his head. “We’re not zombies. And, uh. It’s Azimio!” he adds, pointing at Az. 

“Anybody could know that name!” a man’s voice shouts back.

“Uncle Travis, stop fucking shooting at us!” Az yells. “It’s Azimio Adams, your nephew, and I’m not a goddamn zombie!”

“We’ve been driving from Ohio!” Dave calls out. “We have some food and stuff. Boots. Clothes.” He looks at Az and shrugs. “We didn’t bring any zombies with us!”

“We’ve got a kid in the truck!” Az adds.

“Azimio?” the man shouts back. “Is your mother with you?”

“No, she’s—look, can we come up there and stop screaming at each other?” Az calls in the man’s direction. The man, presumably Uncle Travis, waves them in his direction. Dave and Az trot over to him slowly.

Dave nods as they get closer. “Dave Karofsky,” he says.

Uncle Travis nods. “Travis Roosevelt,” he says, leaning his rifle against the bush next to him and holding out his arms for Az. “Azimio! How on earth did you get here?”

Az almost stumbles into a hug with Uncle Travis, and Uncle Travis does his own almost-stumbling backwards, since he’s a shorter dude than Az or Dave either one. Az looks almost like he’s collapsing on Uncle Travis, who pats Az’s back in a way that Dave is pretty sure is pretty comforting for Az. 

“We drove from Lima, left on day… four? Five?” Dave says, shaking his head. “It’s been a long drive.”

“You drove that whole way? Just the two of you?” Uncle Travis asks, still patting Az’s back. “And a child. You said you have a child with you?”

“There’s five of us. We picked up Jaydon and his mom in Chicago,” Dave says. “And the Kid not far out of Lima. He’s not a kid, that’s just what we call him.”

“Where’s the rest of your group?” Uncle Travis asks. 

“They’re outside the gate in Dave’s truck,” Az says. “Can you undo the gate and let ‘em in?”

“I’ll walk down and do that. You boys should go on into the house,” Uncle Travis says. “Your Aunt Joyce and your cousins are all in there, along with Joyce’s brother and his family.”

“You go on ahead, Az,” Dave says. “I’ll walk back up so they know everything’s okay here.” Dave falls into step with Uncle Travis as they head back up the driveway towards the gate. “We’ve been getting by fine,” he says, “but it’ll be a relief to sleep behind a fence.”

“How old is the little boy?” Uncle Travis asks. 

“Maybe three?” Dave says, feeling a little puzzled. “He’s a smart kid. I mean, he’d have to be, his mom kept them alive for days on her own.”

“Has to have been hard, on the road with a young child like that,” Uncle Travis says, too casually. “Guess you’d probably have to be prepared to make some hard decisions.”

“We tried to prioritize him and the Kid when it came to any fresh food we found, that kind of thing,” Dave says, not really sure what Uncle Travis is trying to say. 

“Just trying to get a feel for what it’s like out there, is all,” Uncle Travis says. 

“They collect in big groups now,” Dave says, waving once as they approach the gate and the truck. “Sometimes you find one or two on their own, but in general, they’re in big groups moving around, so if you can avoid those, it’s just lonely. Only people we’ve seen since Lima are in the truck with us, more or less.”

Uncle Travis nods. “We’re still seeing the odd straggler here and there, but it’s mostly been groups of a dozen or more coming through since the first three or four days.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty similar to what we’ve encountered,” Dave says. He steps to the side of the gate, waiting for Uncle Travis to unlock it. “We’ve got enough room for you to ride down with us,” he offers.

“Sure. I can show you where to park,” Uncle Travis says agreeably as he unlocks the gate and swings it open. “Why don’t you pull on through, then I’ll lock up again.”

Dave nods and heads to the truck, climbing inside. “It’s Uncle Travis and family,” he says quickly as he eases through the gate. “I think his wife’s brother and family are here, too. Az went on up to the house, and Uncle Travis is going to ride down the driveway with us.” Dave checks to make sure there’s enough clearance for the gate and brakes, waiting on Uncle Travis to join them. 

The passenger side door opens a minute later, and Uncle Travis gets in. “You must be Kid,” he says to the Kid, then turns to the back. “And Jaydon and his mother.”

“Jade,” Jade says, offering Uncle Travis a hand.

“Very nice to meet you,” Uncle Travis says. 

Dave heads slowly down the driveway past what looks like a barn and then towards the house, which is about as large as Dave expected, from what Az said about it. “Park around back?” he asks Uncle Travis. “Can any of this be seen from the road?”

“No, we’re in enough of a little dip here, plus the trees,” Uncle Travis says. “Only get a few zombies, no other people before you, not since Joyce’s brother and his family got here.”

“Probably for the best,” Dave says, nodding as he slows the truck and then turns it off. He reaches forward and pats the dashboard, feeling oddly appreciative of it and then having the absurd thought that someone’s going to have to learn how to do oil changes at a minimum. He climbs out of the truck again and stretches.

Uncle Travis exits on the passenger side, opening Jade’s door and helping her and Jaydon down out of the car, but the Kid perches on the edge of Dave’s seat, looking out at the house with a dubious look. He swings his feet but doesn’t hop down from the truck.

“Come on,” Dave says quietly, holding out his hand for the Kid. “I bet they have clean sheets and beds, and we don’t have to think about the zombies when we sleep this time.”

The Kid hesitates briefly before he nods once and takes Dave’s hand, letting Dave guide him down from the truck. Uncle Travis glances back at them, his eyes dropping briefly to their joined hands before darting away again as he takes Jaydon’s free hand and starts leading them towards the house. 

Dave frowns at Uncle Travis’s back but decides not to say anything, grabbing a couple of bags from the back of the truck before following Uncle Travis to the house and then inside. The first thing that Dave thinks is that it’s a lot of noise, listening to Az and his relatives, but then he realizes that it’s just been a long time since they’ve been around very many people. It makes sense, Dave guesses, that a group he would have called small before now seems huge. 

The second thing Dave notices is that the man who isn’t Uncle Travis also looks at Dave and the Kid’s hands, which makes Dave squeeze the Kid’s hand a little more tightly as they continue into the house. The third thing that crosses Dave’s mind is that there are lightbulbs on, which means electricity is flowing, possibly from a generator or something. The fourth thing Dave realizes is that everything feels anticlimactic. Days of driving across the country, avoiding zombies and trying to cross rivers, and after all of it, they finally reach their destination with absolutely no fanfare. 

“Do you want to sleep?” he mutters to the Kid. 

“I can try,” the Kid says. 

“Can we crash before we meet everyone?” Dave asks Uncle Travis. “I don’t think we realized how tired we were until we could let down our guard a little.”

“It’ll just take a minute to introduce all of you around,” Uncle Travis says. “Azimio, did you want to introduce your friends?”

Dave looks at the Kid and sighs with a little shrug, waiting for Az to introduce everyone. The Kid seems wary, which Dave figures he can understand, but at the same time, Dave’s just so tired suddenly. He vaguely registers Az talking to them and then naming everyone in the room in turn, but Dave doesn’t catch anything except which woman is Aunt Joyce and which one is married to Aunt Joyce’s brother. Dave nods a few times and tries to smile enough to look friendly, then looks pleadingly between Az and Uncle Travis. 

“Joyce, how did you want to arrange them in the rooms?” Uncle Travis asks. 

“Azimio should stay with the boys, and Jade and her little boy, Jaydon wasn’t it?” Jade nods at Joyce, then Joyce continues, “They can stay in the blue room, since it has direct bathroom access. And Dave and his... brother?”

“Yeah, Aunt Joyce, Kid’s Dave’s little brother,” Az says in his ‘go along with this’ tone, though it doesn’t match his expression.

“Yeah, uh. Brother,” Dave says, nodding slowly at the slightly-desperate look on Az’s face. He squeezes the Kid’s hand, guessing that this is Az’s way of easing them into the gay thing or something.

“I’m sure you and you brother would like to get some rest, so we’ll put you in the back upstairs room,” Joyce says, addressing Dave like he and the Kid are skittish animals. “It’s small, but it has a full size bed. You just let us know if you or your brother need anything, Dave.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dave says, nodding and then following Uncle Travis upstairs to a room that is small, but only has one window along with the full size bed. Dave thanks Uncle Travis, then shuts and locks the door. “We should be safe here, at least,” Dave says, starting to remove his shoes. “Let’s get some rest, okay?”

“Maybe this was a bad plan,” the Kid says quietly. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come here.”

“It’s good enough for a day or two at least,” Dave says, lying down and pulling the Kid with him. “We couldn’t keep going. Let someone else keep watch today and tonight.” The Kid lies down, but he’s stiff and almost twitchy. Dave wraps his arms around the Kid and closes his eyes, appreciating the climate-controlled surroundings, and even though the sun is shining, Dave falls asleep quickly.

When Dave wakes up, the room is completely dark except for a small clock, possibly battery-powered, that lets him know it’s around three in the morning. The Kid is asleep, not looking appreciably more relaxed, and Dave decides it’s a good time to look around a little. 

Dave opens the door quietly and pulls it almost closed, then walks down the hall. He looks in a few of the bedrooms before heading back down to the main level. He’s not sure that the Kid isn’t right, because Dave doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life pretending the Kid is his brother—too much to lie about and too many chances to get caught in the lie, and too much apparently at stake if they’re caught. Dave spent his pre-zombie life doing a lot of lying, and he can admit the lack of lying is one of the few decent parts of post-zombie life. 

The Mormon house is well-stocked, though, and maybe they can keep up the lie for a week and let Uncle Travis help them reprovision before heading out again. Dave isn’t sure if anyone would go on with him besides the Kid, but it’s not like he and the Kid have much of a choice. 

After a final circuit of the lower level, Dave heads back upstairs, determined to ask Az and Uncle Travis if there’s a nearby Mormon house that’s empty. He slips back into the bedroom, locks the door again, and lies back down with the Kid, closing his eyes again. 

The next time Dave wakes up, the sun’s high in the sky, and he yawns before looking over at the Kid. This time, the Kid is awake, and Dave manages a bit of a smile. “Morning.”

“Hi,” the Kid says. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Pretty good, yeah.” Dave sighs. “I think you’re a little bit right, though.”

“Am I?”

Dave nods, noting the strain around the Kid’s eyes. “We should stay here for a few days, up to a couple of weeks. Get some good rest, really organize our stuff, and get some advice from Uncle Travis on reprovisioning, maybe some local stores and good abandoned locations.” Dave shrugs. “I did a lot of lying before the zombies.”

The Kid nods his head slowly. “What about Az? And Jaydon and Jade?” he asks. 

“Maybe we can find a good place nearby. I’m not going to make anybody leave, and I think it’s probably better for Jaydon to have more adults around,” Dave says. “I just figured you’d want to come with me.”

“Yes!” the Kid blurts out. “Yes, I’d want to go with you. I wouldn’t want to stay here.”

“I’ll mention it to Az quietly,” Dave says. “See how it all plays out.”

“It’s more people than I thought it would be,” the Kid says.

“Yeah, and I guess I was hoping for liberal Mormons,” Dave says with a snort. “Want to go eat their food, anyway?”

The Kid gives Dave a small smile. “Maybe they have ice cream,” he says.

Dave chuckles and gives the Kid a long kiss. “Ice cream for breakfast sounds awesome,” he agrees, standing up and taking the Kid’s hand as they go downstairs. 

The rest of that day and all of the next day pass peacefully and, if Dave’s being honest, they’re even kind of boring. With that many people in one house, there’s some chores to be done, but they don’t take up the entire day, and there’s a lot of reading and people trying to pass the time without the internet, or at least that’s how Dave sees it. Right after dinner on the second day, Az pulls Dave outside, and Dave has to throw on a hoodie in the evening chill. 

“What’s going on?” Dave asks Az, looking back through the window into the house at the Kid, who looks just as uncomfortable as he has since they arrived. 

“What do you mean?” Az asks. “Everybody’s settling in, seems to be doing alright.”

“You pulled me outside to talk about something,” Dave points out. “I’ve known you more than a few weeks. So what’s going on?”

“So listen, I just think it’s better if you don’t let on about you and your rugrat right now,” Az says.

“Yeah, I was starting to gather that,” Dave says slowly. “And I know why you’re saying that, Az, but I spent a long time lying about shit.”

“Just give it a little time, will you?” Az says. “Right now Aunt Joyce thinks your Kid’s got autism or something, so she and Uncle Travis aren’t saying anything. They’ll leave you alone. Mitch, though.” Az shakes his head. “He’s making comments. They’re Mormon-nice right now, but...”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything yet,” Dave says with a sigh, “but the Kid and me, we’re not staying. We’re gonna rest up, get everything organized, and ask Uncle Travis about some good places to stock up and try, but we can’t stay here, Az. The longer we lie, the worse it’d be when the truth came out, you know?”

“Dave, man, we’ve got it good here! They got power and hot water and food.”

“I’m not saying you should leave, Az,” Dave says. “We’ll try to find a place close by or something, right? But you can’t ask me to keep lying for days or weeks or longer.”

“Just, we came all this way,” Az says. “Don’t puss out on me now.”

“Man, I have no interest in pussy,” Dave says with a very straight face. 

“Oh, can you say that louder? I’ll just _love_ explaining to my aunt where my cousins learned _that_ word,” Az says, then he grins. “Shithead.”

Dave grins back. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to mention it over breakfast tomorrow.” 

“Make sure Jade’s there. Maybe she can go upside _your_ head for once.”

“Nah, she’d tell you it was your job to stop me. You want to talk to your uncle with me in the morning?”

“Give it another day or two,” Az says.

“Fine, in a day or two, you’ll talk to him with me?” Dave asks. 

“Fiiiiine, if you gotta be that way,” Az huffs, rolling his eyes. “Now go find your special little brother before my aunt drags him off to talk to him about Mormon Jesus.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Dave says, shaking his head at Az’s eye-rolling. He does like Az says, waiting a couple more mind-numbingly boring days, days that he admittedly feels like he’s constantly looking over his shoulder. The Kid doesn’t make eye contact with anyone there, silently occupying a small space in whatever room the two of them are in at any given point in time. The Kid seems to be really uncomfortable, and Dave can’t blame him; the looking over his shoulder feeling is uncomfortable, too. As soon as breakfast is over on the third day, he nods at Az and then tilts his head towards Uncle Travis. 

“Travis?” Dave says as everyone clears the table. “Can I speak with you and Az?”

“Sure,” Travis says. “We can go do morning perimeter check, give Terrence and Jordan a chance to come in and eat some breakfast.”

“Great,” Dave says, then looks at the Kid, nodding a little to let him know he’s heading outside. 

The Kid narrows his eyes. “Where are you going?”

“Just going to talk,” Dave says quietly.

“I should come, too,” the Kid says. “I’ll just go get the other gun.”

“We’re good,” Dave says, shaking his head. “Az is coming.”

“What if something needs shot? Or somebody?”

“We aren’t starting some kind of war,” Dave hisses under his breath. “Come looking for me if I’m not back in ten or fifteen minutes, okay?”

The Kid looks like he’s perfectly okay with starting a war, and that he thinks the chances of winning are pretty good, but he nods. Dave returns the nod, then follows Uncle Travis and Az outside. They walk along the outer fence line for about a hundred yards before Uncle Travis waves for his two oldest boys to head back towards the house. 

“So,” Dave says with a deep breath and a look at Az, “I think the Kid and I might go a little bit further on.”

“Oh?” Uncle Travis says. “You know there’s no problem at all with you staying here. We have plenty of room, and nobody has a problem with your brother at all. If there’s something we could do to be more accommodating for him—”

“It’s not that,” Dave interrupts, shooting Az a glare. “I think in the long run it’d be more comfortable for everyone. We thought we’d rest up a day or two more, maybe get some advice from you on stores nearby or a good house to look for.”

Uncle Travis looks concerned, his forehead wrinkling. “Well now, if there’s anything any of us have done to make the two of you feel uncomfortable—”

“Uncle Travis!” Az interrupts this time. “Maybe just let it go, alright?”

“We have plenty of food and plenty of room,” Uncle Travis insists. “There’s no reason for those boys to have to head back into the wilderness.”

“Oh my god, Uncle Travis, they’re _gay_!” Az blurts. “Gay. Like, gay together, gay. Not brothers. Gay. Jesus H. Joseph Smithing Christ, they are so, so fucking gay.”

“Oh,” Uncle Travis says.

“Yeah, oh,” Az says. 

“So, that’s why they don’t want to stay?” Uncle Travis asks. “Because they’re homosexual?”

“More like ‘cause you’re Mormon,” Dave says apologetically. “I think in the long run it might be better if we were, you know. Close but not on the same property.”

“Now, son, I like to think of myself as open minded,” Uncle Travis begins, but Az holds up a hand to stop him.

“Yeah, but Mitch don’t,” Az says. “I think Mitch’d crap an Alsatian if he finds out.”

Dave nods, agreeing with Az. “There’s no hard feelings right now, and I think we’d all like it to stay that way.”

“Azimio? You’re not planning on going with them, are you?” Uncle Travis asks.

“Dave’s my best friend, and he got us all this far,” Az says. “I feel like I oughta.”

“But you can’t drag Jade and the baby back out there,” Uncle Travis says. 

“I wasn’t even going to ask her,” Dave says, shaking his head. “I hope she’s not offended by that, but she needs to stay here.”

“She’ll probably be glad I’m gone and not bugging her anymore,” Az says. 

“We really appreciate the stopover here,” Dave says. “I can’t tell you how much being able to sleep deeply has helped.”

“Well, I can’t say I agree with your plans, but I can’t keep you here against your wills,” Uncle Travis says. “Azimio, I hope you’ll think it over before you leave. You’re family. You should be with family.”

“Yeah, but they’re kinda family, too,” Az says. 

“We should probably head back before the Kid thinks something happened,” Dave says apologetically. “He’s been a little on edge.” He starts to walk back towards the house as he speaks, because he’s not sure exactly how long they’ve been outside.

“So, is that a little weird, then?” Uncle Travis asks. “You, uh. Your boyfriend being autistic and all.”

“Oh my god, Uncle Travis,” Az says. “Kid’s not autistic. He’s just a dick.” He raises his eyebrows at Dave like he’s trying to egg Dave into responding. 

“And, uh. Twitchy?” Dave says weakly as they approach the house. 

“Huh. Takes all kinds, I guess,” Uncle Travis says, shaking his head.

“Uh, sure,” Dave agrees, then walks in silence the rest of the way. He tries to smile reassuringly at the Kid as soon as they get inside, without being too obvious about the reassuring part of it. There’s no need for Mitch to get upset before they leave. As soon as he can, though, Dave nods towards the stairs and heads for them himself. 

“Do I need to shoot anybody?” the Kid whispers as they walk up the stairs. 

Dave shakes his head quickly, but he doesn’t respond until they’re in the little bedroom and he’s locked the door. “No shooting necessary,” he says, leaning against the door and grinning at the Kid. “We’ll head out day after tomorrow, probably. No hard feelings or anything.”

The Kid nods. “I’ll keep my gun on me, just in case,” he says.

“It won’t be Uncle Travis, if there’s any trouble,” Dave says. “We’ll just keep quiet like we have until now, I guess.”

The Kid nods again, frowning. “I might still need to shoot Mitch.”

Dave shrugs. “Let’s try to avoid it, though.”

“How hard do I have to try?”

Dave laughs. “Definitely no shooting at the table.”

“What if I just knocked him out, dragged him out the back, and shot him there?” the Kid asks. “Just, you know. In theory.”

“Still not at mealtime?” Dave says. “Everyone else needs their food to digest.”

The Kid sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed, setting his gun on the small table with the clock. “I guess that’s fine,” he says.

Dave grins at him and crosses the room to sit down next to the Kid. “My stomach appreciates it,” he jokes.

“I’m sorry we can’t stay here,” the Kid says. “Maybe if it had just been you and Az who came here...”

“Yeah, I think that Pamela’s just dying to start trying to convert all of us,” Dave says, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’m made to live with Mormons.”

“Okay. I could stay, if that’s what you wanted, but I don’t think I’m made to live with Mormons, either,” the Kid says. “Joyce talks to me weird.”

“She thinks you’re autistic or something, maybe?” Dave says, shaking his head again and laughing. “I never thought of Lima as a big city, but I feel like we’re from a huge city compared to them.”

“Yes, we’re very urban,” the Kid deadpans.

Dave keeps laughing, then pulls the Kid to him and starts kissing him, feeling more comfortable than he has since they arrived at the house. Dave’s slept, yes, but he’s felt like he’s been on tip-toe, trying to avoid making the Mormons realize that Az had lied about Dave and the Kid. 

“What about the Mormons?” the Kid asks, not really pulling away. 

“We’re leaving, they’re not, and screw ‘em,” Dave says, his lips brushing against the Kid’s as he speaks. “We’ve spent almost a week not doing what we want.”

“Yeah,” the Kid agrees. “What _do_ you want?”

Dave grins, kissing the Kid briefly. “You.”

“You don’t want me to go out and find you a Mormon or something?” the Kid asks, clearly trying to keep himself from smiling.

Dave pulls away enough to look exaggeratedly sad. “But I don’t want a Mormon. You can’t leave me for a Mormon!”

The Kid just looks confused. “Why would I leave you for a Mormon?” 

“I guess some people might have a thing for that,” Dave says with a shrug, pulling the Kid back to him. “Not me, though. I just have a thing for you.” He kisses the Kid harder and then asks, “Can we stop talking about Mormons now?”

“Yes,” the Kid says.

Dave chuckles, lying them back on the bed. “Good,” he says, before kissing the Kid, his hands tightening in the Kid’s shirt. The Kid makes an almost-squeaking noise as they land on their sides, and Dave kisses him harder. Dave pulls the Kid’s shirt up, one hand landing on the skin of the Kid’s lower back, and then rolls onto his back, pulling the Kid with him.

The two of them keep kissing, and Dave slowly works the Kid’s shirt off, throwing it off the bed as he returns to kissing the Kid. Dave’s hands go between the two of them, slowly unfastening the Kid’s jeans before rolling them on their sides again. 

“Hang on,” Dave murmurs, pulling away slightly. The Kid tugs Dave’s shirt up, making a small frustrated noise when the shirt gets hung up around Dave’s arms. Dave stifles a chuckle, lifting his chest up enough for the Kid to finish removing the shirt. Once the shirt is off, Dave starts kissing the Kid again. The Kid unfastens Dave’s jeans and tries to shoves them down, making another frustrated sound. 

Dave does let out a short, soft chuckle, putting his hands over the Kid’s to help him. Once they’re down a bit, Dave moves his hands to the Kid’s waist, then wraps one hand around the Kid’s dick. He slowly moves his hand, kissing the Kid a little more softly than before. The Kid whimpers against Dave’s mouth, his hands sliding along Dave’s sides and stomach before one of them grasps Dave’s dick. 

“Yeah,” Dave says softly into the Kid’s mouth, moving his hand a little faster and then kissing the Kid harder again. The Kid whimpers again, almost whining, and as their hands move, Dave hears a few squeaks. Both of their hands move faster, tightening a little, and Dave kisses the Kid almost desperately as he starts to come, his body pushing against the Kid’s hand and the Kid’s body. The Kid comes immediately after Dave, his whole body shuddering before he practically slumps against Dave and the bed. 

After a moment, Dave starts stroking the Kid’s back, and the Kid vibrates a little, like he’s releasing some of the tension they’ve both felt since arriving at the Mormon stronghold. Another few minutes pass before Dave hears a quiet sniffle, and the Kid curls up against Dave. Dave starts to say something, then realizes that the Kid is asleep, and Dave nods a little. 

“Forty-eight hours or less,” he promises the sleeping Kid. They needed the rest, the knowledge of the area that Uncle Travis and his family can provide, and the chance to really make a plan in a safe place, but Dave will be just as glad as the Kid when they drive back out through the padlocked gate. He makes a mental note to start a shopping list of sorts, with their own padlock at the top of it, along with some barbed wire. “It doesn’t have to be fancy like this,” Dave says to the quiet room. “Just safe.”


End file.
